MARK    TWAIN    AT    HIS    ;oTH    BIRTHDAY 


FSiszi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  $30,000  BEQUEST i 

A  DOG'S  TALE 5° 

WAS  IT  HEAVEN?  OR  HELL? 68 

THE  CALIFORNIAN'S  TALE 103 

A  HELPLESS  SITUATION 115 

A  TELEPHONIC  CONVERSATION 124 

EDWARD  MILLS  AND  GEORGE  BENTON:  A  TALE  .     .     .  129 

SAINT  JOAN  OF  ARC 139 

THE  FIVE  BOONS  OF  LIFE 160 

THE  FIRST  WRITING-MACHINES 166- 

ITALIAN  WITHOUT  A  MASTER 171 

ITALIAN  WITH  GRAMMAR 186 

A  BURLESQUE  BIOGRAPHY 197 

GENERAL  WASHINGTON'S  NEGRO  BODY-SERVANT    .     .  206 

WIT  INSPIRATIONS  OF  THE  "  TWO-YEAR-OLDS  "  .     .     .  212 

AN  ENTERTAINING  ARTICLE 217 

A  LETTER  TO  THE  SECRETARY  OF  THE  TREASURY  .     .     .  229 

AMENDED  OBITUARIES 230 

A  MONUMENT  TO  ADAM 234 

A  HUMANE  WORD  FROM  SATAN 237 

INTRODUCTION  TO  "THE  NEW  GUIDE  OF  THE  CONVER 
SATION  IN  PORTUGUESE  AND  ENGLISH" 239 

ADVICE  TO  LITTLE  GIRLS 244 

POST-MORTEM  POETRY 246 

A  DECEPTION 255 

THE  DAGGER  OF  LYING  IN  BED 257, 


iv  Contents 


PAGE 


PORTRAIT  OF  KING  WILLIAM  III 262 

DOES  THE  RACE  OF  MAN  LOVE  A  LORD? 268 

EVE'S  DIARY 287 

THE  INVALID'S  STORY 312 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY 323 

MARK  TWAIN:  A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 330 

IN  MEMORIAM 350 

THE  BELATED  RUSSIAN  PASSPORT 353 

Two  LITTLE  TALES 382  ^._ 

DIPLOMATIC  PAY  AND  CLOTHES 398 

EXTRACTS  FROM  ADAM'S  DIARY 414 

THE  DEATH  DISK 43° 

A  DOUBLE-BARRELLED  DETECTIVE  STORY 449  — 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

MARK   TWAIN    AT   HIS    7OTH  BIRTHDAY Frontispiece 

"POOR    LITTLE    DOGGIE,   YOU    SAVED   HIS    CHILD  "      .    Facing  p.     66 

"SONO  DISPIACENTISSIMO" I?2 

"THEY  ENLARGED  THE  KING" *76 

"l  HOPE  SAREBBE  HAS  NOT  MADE  A  MISTAKE.     .     .     .  179 

"'SERIOUS  DISGRACE  ON  THE  OLD  OLD  BRIDGE'"     .     .  181 

"'THE  REVOLVERATION  IN  THEATRE'" 183 

"AND  BREAKING  FOR  THE  PLATFORM,  THOMPSON 

GOT    SUFFOCATED    AND    FELL*' Facing  p.  320 

"JIMMY  SAVES  THE  EMPEROR".       ......  396 

"WRITING  HIS  DIARY" 4*6 

"HARK!    THE   ELDERS   STOPPED   BREATHING,  AND 

LISTENED" 43 2 

"HE  .  .  .  PROCEEDED  TO  LASH  HER  TO  A  TREE-'.  45° 

"STILLMAN  ACCUSES  SHERLOCK  HOLMES "   .     .     .  512 


THE  $30,000   BEQUEST 


-  OF  THE 

UN1VEP 

OF 

CALIF' 


THE  $30,000   BEQUEST 


I 


E. RESIDE  was  a  pleasant  little  town  ot  five  or 
six  thousand  inhabitants,  and  a  rather  pretty 
one,  too,  as  towns  go  in  the  Far  West.  It  had  church 
accommodations  for  35,000,  which  is  the  way  of  the 
Far  West  and  the  South,  where  everybody  is  religious, 
and  where  each  of  the  Protestant  sects  is  represented 
and  has  a  plant  of  its  own.  Rank  was  unknown  in 
Lakeside  —  unconfessed,  anyway;  everybody  knew 
everybody  and  his  dog,  and  a  sociable  friendliness 
was  the  prevailing  atmosphere. 

Saladin  Foster  was  book-keeper  in  the  principal 
store,  and  the  only  high-salaried  man  of  his  profession 
in  Lakeside.  He  was  thirty-five  years  old,  now;  he 
had  served  that  store  for  fourteen  years;  he  had 
begun  in  his  marriage-week  at  four  hundred  dollars 
a  year,  and  had  climbed  steadily  up,  a  hundred  dol 
lars  a  year,  for  four  years ;  from  that  time  forth  his 
wage  had  remained  eight  hundred  —  a  handsome 
figure  indeed,  and  everybody  conceded  that  he  was 
worth  it. 


2  The  $30,000  Bequest 

His  wife,  Electra,  was  a  capable  helpmeet,  although 
— like  himself — a  dreamer  of  dreams  and  a  private 
dabbler  in  romance.  The  first  thing  she  did,  after 
her  marriage — child  as  she  was,  aged  only  nineteen — 
was  to  buy  an  acre  of  ground  on  the  edge  of  the  town, 
and  pay  down  the  cash  for  it — twenty-five  dollars,  all 
her  fortune.  Saladin  had  less,  by  fifteen.  She  insti 
tuted  a  vegetable  garden  there,  got  it  farmed  on  shares 
by  the  nearest  neighbor,  and  made  it  pay  her  a  hun 
dred  per  cent,  a  year.  Out  of  Saladin's  first  year's  wage 
she  put  thirty  dollars  in  the  savings-bank,  sixty  out 
of  his  second,  a  hundred  out  of  his  third,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  out  of  his  fourth.  His  wage  went  to  eight 
hundred  a  year,  then,  and  meantime  two  children  had 
arrived  and  increased  the  expenses,  but  she  banked 
two  hundred  a  year  from  the  salary,  nevertheless, 
thenceforth.  When  she  had  been  married  seven  years 
she  built  and  furnished  a  pretty  and  comfortable  two- 
thousand-dollar  house  in  the  midst  of  her  garden-acre, 
paid  half  of  the  money  down  and  moved  her  family 
in.  Seven  years  later  she  was  out  of  debt  and  had 
several  hundred  dollars  out  earning  its  living. 

Earning  it  by  the  rise  in  landed  estate ;  for  she  had 
long  ago  bought  another  acre  or  two  and  sold  the 
most  of  it  at  a  profit  to  pleasant  people  who  were  will 
ing  to  build,  and  would  be  good  neighbors  and  furnish 
a  general  comradeship  for  herself  and  her  growing 
family.  She  had  an  independent  income  from  safe 
investments  of  about  a  hundred  dollars  a  year;  her 
children  were  growing  in  years  and  grace;  and  she 


The  $30,000  Bequest  3 

was  a  pleased  and  happy  woman.  Happy  in  her  hus 
band,  happy  in  her  children,  and  the  husband  and  the 
children  were  happy  in  her.  It  is  at  this  point  that 
this  history  begins. 

The  youngest  girl,  Clytemnestra — called  Clytie  for 
short — was  eleven;  her  sister,  Gwendolen — called 
Gwen  for  short — was  thirteen;  nice  girls,  and  comely. 
The  names  betray  the  latent  romance-tinge  in  the 
parental  blood,  the  parents'  names  indicate  that  the 
tinge  was  an  inheritance.  It  was  an  affectionate 
family,  hence  all  four  of  its  members  had  pet  names. 
Saladin's  was  a  curious  and  unsexing  one — Sally ;  and 
so  was  Electra's — Aleck.  All  day  long  Sally  was  a 
good  and  diligent  book-keeper  and  salesman ;  all  day 
long  Aleck  was  a  good  and  faithful  mother  and  house 
wife,  and  thoughtful  and  calculating  business-woman; 
but  in  the  cosey  living-room  at  night  they  put  the  plod 
ding  world  away,  and  lived  in  another  and  a  fairer, 
reading  romances  to  each  other,  dreaming  dreams, 
comrading  with  kings  and  princes  and  stately  lords 
and  ladies  in  the  flash  and  stir  and  splendor  of  noble 
palaces  and  grim  and  ancient  castles. 


II 


Now  came  great  news!  Stunning  news  —  joyous 
news,  in  fact.  It  came  from  a  neighboring  State, 
where  the  family's  only  surviving  relative  lived.  It 
was  Sally's  relative — a  sort  of  vague  and  indefinite 
uncle  or  second  or  third  cousin  by  the  name  of  Tilbury 
Foster,  seventy  and  a  bachelor,  reputed  well-off  and 
correspondingly  sour  and  crusty.  Sally  had  tried  to 
make  up  to  him  once,  by  letter,  in  a  by -gone  time,  and 
had  not  made  that  mistake  again.  Tilbury  now  wrote 
to  Sally,  saying  he  should  shortly  die,  and  should  leave 
him  thirty  thousand  dollars,  cash;  not  for  love,  but 
because  money  had  given  him  most  of  his  troubles 
and  exasperations,  and  he  wished  to  place  it  where 
there  was  good  hope  that  it  would  continue  its  malig 
nant  work.  The  bequest  would  be  found  in  his  will, 
and  would  be  paid  over.  Provided,  that  Sally  should 
be  able  to  prove  to  the  executors  that  he  had  taken  no 
notice  of  the  gift  by  spoken  word  or  by  letter,  had  made 
no  inquiries  concerning  the  moribund' s  progress  towards 
the  everlasting  tropics,  and  had  not  attended  the  funeral. 

As  soon  as  Aleck  had  partially  recovered  from  the 
tremendous  emotions  created  by  the  letter,  she  sent 
to  the  relative's  habitat  and  subscribed  for  the  local 
paper. 


The  $30,000  Bequest  5 

Man  and  wife  entered  into  a  solemn  compact,  now, 
to  never  mention  the  great  news  to  any  one  while  the 
relative  lived,  lest  some  ignorant  person  carry  the  fact 
to  the  death-bed  and  distort  it  and  make  it  appear 
that  they  were  disobediently  thankful  for  the  bequest, 
and  just  the  same  as  confessing  it  and  publishing  it, 
right  in  the  face  of  the  prohibition. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  Sally  made  havoc  and  con 
fusion  with  his  books,  and  Aleck  could  not  keep  her 
mind  on  her  affairs,  nor  even  take  up  a  flower-pot  or 
book  or  a  stick  of  wood  without  forgetting  what  she 
had  intended  to  do  with  it.  For  both  were  dream 
ing. 

"Thir-ty  thousand  dollars!" 

All  day  long  the  music  of  those  inspiring  words  sang 
through  those  people's  heads. 

From  his  marriage-day  forth,  Aleck's  grip  had  been 
upon  the  purse,  and  Sally  had  seldom  known  what  it 
was  to  be  privileged  to  squander  a  dime  on  non- 
necessities. 

"Thir-ty  thousand  dollars!"  the  song  went  on  and 
on.  A  vast  sum,  an  unthinkable  sum! 

All  day  long  Aleck  was  absorbed  in  planning  how 
to  invest  it,  Sally  in  planning  how  to  spend  it. 

There  was  no  romance-reading  that  night.  The 
children  took  themselves  away  early,  for  the  parents 
were  silent,  distraught,  and  strangely  unentertaining. 
The  good -night  kisses  might  as  well  have  been  im 
pressed  upon  vacancy,  for  all  the  response  they  got; 
the  parents  were  not  aware  of  the  kisses,  and  the 


6  The  $30,000  Bequest 

children  had  been  gone  an  hour  before  their  absence 
was  noticed.  Two  pencils  had  been  busy  during  that 
hour  —  note-making;  in  the  way  of  plans.  It  was 
Sally  who  broke  the  stillness  at  last.  He  said,  with 
exultation — 

"Ah,  it  '11  be  grand,  Aleck!  Out  of  the  first  thou 
sand  we'll  have  a  horse  and  a  buggy  for  summer,  and 
a  cutter  and  a  skin  lap-robe  for  winter." 

Aleck  responded  with  decision  and  composure — 

"Out  of  the  capital?  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Not 
if  it  was  a  million!" 

Sally  was  deeply  disappointed;  the  glow  went  out 
of  his  face. 

"Oh,  Aleck!"  he  said,  reproachfully.  "We've  al 
ways  worked  so  hard  and  been  so  scrimped ;  and  now 
that  we  are  rich,  it  does  seem — " 

He  did  not  finish,  for  he  saw  her  eye  soften;  his 
supplication  had  touched  her.  She  said,  with  gentle 
persuasiveness — 

"We  must  not  spend  the  capital,  dear,  it  would  not 
be  wise.  Out  of  the  income  from  it — 

"That  will  answer,  that  will  answer,  Aleck!  How 
dear  and  good  you  are!  There  will  be  a  noble  income, 
and  if  we  can  spend  that — " 

"  Not  all  of  it,  dear,  not  all  of  it,  but  you  can  spend 
a  part  of  it.  That  is,  a  reasonable  part.  But  the 
whole  of  the  capital — every  penny  of  it — must  be  put 
right  to  work,  and  kept  at  it.  You  see  the  reasona 
bleness  of  that,  don't  you?" 

"Why,  ye-s.     Yes,  of  course.     But  we'll  have  to 


The  $30,000  Bequest  7 

wait  so  long.  Six  months  before  the  first  interest 
falls  due." 

"Yes — maybe  longer." 

"Longer,  Aleck?  Why?  Don't  they  pay  half- 
yearly?" 

"That  kind  of  an  investment — yes;  but  I  sha'n't 
invest  in  that  way." 

"What  way  then?" 

"For  big  returns." 

"  Big.     That's  good.     Go  on,  Aleck.     What  is  it  ?" 

"Coal.  The  new  mines.  Cannel.  I  mean  to  put 
in  ten  thousand.  Ground  floor.  When  we  organize, 
we'll  get  three  shares  for  one." 

"By  George,  but  it  sounds  good,  Aleck!  Then  the 
shares  will  be  worth — how  much?  And  when?" 

"About  a  year.  They'll  pay  ten  per  cent,  half- 
yearly,  and  be  worth  thirty  thousand.  I  know  all 
about  it ;  the  advertisement  is  in  the  Cincinnati  paper 
here." 

"Land,  thirty  thousand  for  ten — in  a  year!  Let's 
jam  in  the  whole  capital  and  pull  out  ninety!  I'll 
write  and  subscribe  right  now — to-morrow  it  may  be 
too  late." 

He  was  flying  to  the  writing-desk,  but  Aleck  stopped 
him  and  put  him  back  in  his  chair.  She  said: 

"Don't  lose  your  head  so.  We  mustn't  subscribe 
till  we've  got  the  money ;  don't  you  know  that  ?" 

Sally's  excitement  went  down  a  degree  or  two,  but 
he  was  not  wholly  appeased. 

"  Why,  Aleck,  we'll  have  it,  you  know — and  so  soon, 


The  $30,000  Bequest 

too.     He's  probably  out  of  his  troubles  before  this, 
it's  a  hundred  to  nothing  he's  selecting  his  brimstone- 
shovel  this  very  minute.     Now,  I  think — " 
Aleck  shuddered,  and  said: 

"How  can  you,  Sally!  Don't  talk  in  that  way,  it 
is  perfectly  scandalous." 

"Oh  well,  make  it  a  halo,  if  you  like,  7  don't  care 
for  his  outfit,  I  was  only  just  talking.  Can't  you  let 
a  person  talk?" 

"  But  why  should  you  want  to  talk  in  that  dreadful 
way?  How  would  you  like  to  have  people  talk  so 
about  you,  and  you  not  cold  yet?" 

"  Not  likely  to  be,  for  one  while,  I  reckon,  if  my  last 
act  was  giving  away  money  for  the  sake  of  doing 
somebody  a  harm  with  it.  But  never  mind  about 
Tilbury,  Aleck,  let's  talk  about  something  worldly. 
It  does  seem  to  me  that  that  mine  is  the  place  for  the 
whole  thirty.  What's  the  objection?" 

"All  the  eggs  in  one  basket— that's  the  objection." 

"All  right,  if  you  say  so.  What  about  the  other 
twenty?  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  that?" 

"There  is  no  hurry;  I  am  going  to  look  around 
before  I  do  anything  with  it." 

"All  right,  if  your  mind's  made  up,"  sighed  Sally. 
He  was  deep  in  thought  awhile,  then  he  said: 

"There'll  be  twenty  thousand  profit  coming  from 
the  ten  a  year  from  now.  We  can  spend  that,  can't 
we,  Aleck?" 

Aleck  shook  her  head. 

"No,  dear,"  she  said,  "it  won't  sell  high  till  we've 


The  $30,000  Bequest  9 

had  the  first  semi-annual  dividend.     You  can  spend 
part  of  that." 

"Shucks,  only  that — and  a  whole  year  to  wait! 
Confound  it,  I — " 

"  Oh,  do  be  patient!  It  might  even  be  declared  in 
three  months — it's  quite  within  the  possibilities." 

"Oh,  jolly!  oh,  thanks!"  and  Sally  jumped  up  and 
kissed  his  wife  in  gratitude.  "It  '11  be  three  thousand 
— three  whole  thousand!  how  much  of  it  can  we 
spend,  Aleck?  Make  it  liberal — do,  dear,  that's  a 
good  fellow." 

Aleck  was  pleased ;  so  pleased  that  she  yielded  to 
the  pressure  and  conceded  a  sum  which  her  judgment 
told  her  was  a  foolish  extravagance — a  thousand  dol 
lars.  Sally  kissed  her  half  a  dozen  times  and  even  in 
that  way  could  not  express  all  his  joy  and  thankful 
ness.  This  new  access  of  gratitude  and  affection  car 
ried  Aleck  quite  beyond  the  bounds  of  prudence,  and 
before  she  could  restrain  herself  she  had  made  her 
darling  another  grant — a  couple  of  thousand  out  of 
the  fifty  or  sixty  which  she  meant  to  clear  within  a 
year  out  of  the  twenty  which  still  remained  of  the 
bequest.  The  happy  tears  sprang  to  Sally's  eyes, 
and  he  said: 

"Oh,  I  want  to  hug  you!"  And  he  did  it.  Then 
he  got  his  notes  and  sat  down  and  began  to  check  off, 
for  first  purchase,  the  luxuries  which  he  should  earliest 
wish  to  secure.  "  Horse — buggy — cutter — lap-robe — 
patent-leathers — dog — plug  hat — church-pew — stem- 
winder — new  teeth — say,  Aleck!" 


io  The  $30,000  Bequest 

"Well?" 

"  Ciphering  away,  aren't  you  ?  That's  right.  Have 
you  got  the  twenty  thousand  invested  yet?" 

"No,  there's  no  hurry  about  that;  I  must  look 
around  first,  and  think." 

"But  you  are  ciphering;  what's  it  about?" 
"Why,  I  have  to  find  work  for  the  thirty  thousand 
that  comes  out  of  the  coal,  haven't  I  ?" 

"Scott,  what  a  head!  I  never  thought  of  that. 
How  are  you  getting  along?  Where  have  you  ar 
rived?" 

"  Not  very  far— two  years  or  three.     I've  turned  it 
over  twice;  once  in  oil  and  once  in  wheat." 
"  Why,  Aleck,  it's  splendid!  How  does  it  aggregate  ?" 
"  I  think — well,  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  about  a  hun 
dred  and  eighty  thousand  clear,  though  it  will  proba 
bly  be  more." 

"My!  isn't  it  wonderful?     By  gracious!  luck  has 
come  our  way  at  last,  after  all  the  hard  sledding. 
Aleck!" 
"Well?" 

"I'm  going  to  cash-in  a  whole  three  hundred  on  the 
missionaries — what  real  right  have  we  to  care  for 
expenses!" 

"  You  couldn't  do  a  nobler  thing,  dear ;  and  it's  just 
like  your  generous  nature,  you  unselfish  boy." 

The  praise  made  Sally  poignantly  happy,  but  he 
was  fair  and  just  enough  to  say  it  was  rightfully  due 
to  Aleck  rather  than  to  himself,  since  but  for  her  he 
should  never  have  had  the  money. 


The  $30,000  Bequest  1 1 

Then  they  went  up  to  bed,  and  in  their  delirium  of 
bliss  they  forgot  and  left  the  candle  burning  in  the 
parlor.  They  did  not  remember  until  they  were  un 
dressed;  then  Sally  was  for  letting  it  burn;  he  said 
they  could  afford  it,  if  it  was  a  thousand.  But  Aleck 
went  down  and  put  it  out. 

A  good  job,  too;  for  on  her  way  back  she  hit  on  a 
scheme  that  would  turn  the  hundred  and  eighty  thou 
sand  into  half  a  million  before  it  had  had  time  to  get 
cold. 


Ill 

THE  little  newspaper  which  Aleck  had  subscribe 
for  was  a  Thursday  sheet;  it  would  make  the  trip 
of  five  hundred  miles  from  Tilbury's  village  and  arrive 
on  Saturday.  Tilbury's  letter  ha'd  started  on  Friday, 
more  than  a  day  too  late  for  the  benefactor  to  die  and 
get  into  that  week's  issue,  but  in  plenty  of  time  to 
make  connection  for  the  next  output.  Thus  the  Fos 
ters  had  to  wait  almost  a  complete  week  to  find  out 
whether  anything  of  a  satisfactory  nature  had  hap 
pened  to  him  or  not.  It  was  a  long,  long  week,  and 
the  strain  was  a  heavy  one.  The  pair  could  hardly 
have  borne  it  if  their  minds  had  not  had  the  relief  of 
wholesome  diversion.  We  have  seen  that  they  had  ' 
that.  The  woman  was  piling  up  fortunes  right  along, 
the  man  was  spending  them — spending  all  his  wife 
would  give  him  a  chance  at,  at  any  rate. 

At  last  the  Saturday  came,  and  the  Weekly  Saga 
more  arrived.  Mrs.  Eversly  Bennett  was  present. 
She  was  the  Presbyterian  parson's  wife,  and  was  work 
ing  the  Fosters  for  a  charity.  Talk  now  died  a  sudden 
death — on  the  Foster  side.  Mrs.  Bennett  presently 
discovered  that  her  hosts  were  not  hearing  a  word  she 
was  saying;  so  she  got  up,  wondering  and  indignant, 
and  went  away.  The  moment  she  was  out  of  the 


The  $30,000  Bequest  13 

house,  Aleck  eagerly  tore  the  wrapper  from  the  paper, 
and  her  eyes  and  Sally's  swept  the  columns  for  the 
death  notices.  Disappointment!  Tilbury  was  not 
anywhere  mentioned.  Aleck  was  a  Christian  from 
the  cradle,  and  duty  and  the  force  of  habit  required 
her  to  go  through  the  motions.  She  pulled  herself 
together  and  said,  with  a  pious  two-per-cent.  trade 
joyousness: 

' '  Let  us  be  humbly  thankful  that  he  has  been 
spared;  and— 

"Damn  his  treacherous  hide,  I  wish — " 

"Sally!     For  shame!" 

"  I  don't  care!"  retorted  the  angry  man.  "  It's  the 
way  you  feel,  and  if  you  weren't  so  immorally  pious 
you'd  be  honest  and  say  so." 

Aleck  said,  with  wounded  dignity: 

"I  do  not  see  how  you  can  say  such  unkind  and 
unjust  things.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  immoral 
piety." 

Sally  felt  a  pang,  but  tried  to  conceal  it  under  a 
shuffling  attempt  to  save  his  case  by  changing  the 
form  of  it — as  if  changing  the  form  while  retaining  the 
juice  could  deceive  the  expert  he  was  trying  to  placate. 
He  said: 

"  I  didn't  mean  so  bad  as  that,  Aleck ;  I  didn't  really 
mean  immoral  piety,  I  only  meant  —  meant  —  well, 
conventional  piety,  you  know ;  er — shop  piety ;  the — 
the — why,  you  know  what  I  mean,  Aleck — the — well, 
where  you  put  up  the  plated  article  and  play  it  for 
solid,  you  know,  without  intending  anything  improper 


14  The  $30,000  Bequest 

but  just  out  of  trade  habit,  ancient  policy,  petrified 
custom,  loyalty  to — to — hang  it,  I  can't  find  the  right 
words,  but  you  know  what  I  mean,  Aleck,  and  that 
there  isn't  any  harm  in  it.  I'll  try  again.  You  see, 
it's  this  way.  If  a  person — " 

"You  have  said  quite  enough,"  said  Aleck,  coldly; 
let  the  subject  be  dropped." 

(iVm  willing,"  fervently  responded  Sally,  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  forehead  and  looking  the  thankful 
ness  he  had  no  words  for.  Then,  musingly,  he  apolo 
gized  to  himself.  "I  certainly  held  threes — I  know 
it — but  I  drew  and  didn't  fill.  That's  where  I'm  so 
often  weak  in  the  game.  If  I  had  stood  pat — but  I 
didn't.  I  never  do.  I  don't  know  enough." 

Confessedly  defeated,  he  was  properly  tame  now 
and  subdued.  Aleck  forgave  him  with  her  eyes. 

The  grand  interest,  the  supreme  interest,  came 
instantly  to  the  front  again ;  nothing  could  keep  it  in 
the  background  many  minutes  on  a  stretch.  The  • 
couple  took  up  the  puzzle  of  the  absence  of  Tilbury's 
death  notice.  They  discussed  it  every  which  way,  ; 
more  or  less  hopefully,  but  they  had  to  finish  where 
they  began,  and  concede  that  the  only  really  sane 
explanation  of  the  absence  of  the  notice  must  be — 
and  without  doubt  was — that  Tilbury  was  not  dead. 
There  was  something  sad  about  it,  something  even 
a  little  unfair,  maybe,  but  there  it  was,  and  had  to  be 
put  up  with.  They  were  agreed  as  to  that.  To  Sally 
it  seemed  a  strangely  inscrutable  dispensation ;  more 
inscrutable  than  usual,  he  thought;  one  of  the  most 


The  $30,000  Bequest  15 

unnecessarily  inscrutable  he  could  call  to  mind,  in 
fact — and  said  so,  with  some  feeling;  but  if  he  was 
hoping  to  draw  Aleck  he  failed;  she  reserved  her 
opinion,  if  she  had  one ;  she  had  not  the  habit  of  tak 
ing  injudicious  risks  in  any  market,  worldly  or  other. 
The  pair  must  wait  for  next  week's  paper — Tilbury 
had  evidently  postponed.  That  was  their  thought 
and  their  decision.  So  they  put  the  subject  away, 
and  went  about  their  affairs  again  with  as  good  he-art 
as  they  could. 

Now,  if  they  had  but  known  it,  they  had  been 
wronging  Tilbury  all  the  time.  Tilbury  had  kept 
faith,  kept  it  to  the  letter;  he  was  dead,  he  had  died 
to  schedule.  He  was  dead  more  than  four  days  now 
and  used  to  it;  entirely  dead,  perfectly  dead,  as  dead 
as  any  other  new  person  in  the  cemetery;  dead  in 
abundant  time  \o  get  into  that  week's  Sagamore,  too, 
and  only  shut  oiit  by  an  accident ;  an  accident  which 
could  not  happen  to  a  metropolitan  journal,  but  which 
happens  easily  ttf  a  poor  little  village  rag  like  the 
Sagamore.  On  this  occasion,  just  as  the  editorial  page 
was  being  locked  up,  a  gratis  quart  of  strawberry 
water-ice  arrived  from  Hostetter's  Ladies'  and  Gents' 
Ice-Cream  Parlors,3  and  the  stickful  of  rather  chilly 
regret  over  Tilbury's  translation  got  crowded  out  to 
make  room  for  the  editor's  frantic  gratitude. 

On  its  way  to  the  standing-galley  Tilbury's  notice 
got  pied.  Otherwise  it  would  have  gone  into  some 
future  edition,  for  Weekly  Sagamores  do  not  waste 


1 6  The  $30,000  Bequest 

"live"  matter,  and  in  their  galleys  "live"  matter  is 
immortal,  unless  a  pi  accident  intervenes.  But  a 
thing  that  gets  pied  is  dead,  and  for  such  there  is  no 
resurrection;  its  chance  of  seeing  print  is  gone,  for 
ever  and  ever.  And  so,  let  Tilbury  like  it  or  not,  let 
him  rave  in  his  grave  to  his  fill,  no  matter— no  men- 
tjon  of  his  death  would  ever  see  the  light  in  the 
Weekly  Sagamore. 


'- 

> 


IV 


FIVE  weeks  drifted  tediously  along.  The  Sagamore 
arrived  regularly  on  the  Saturdays,  but  never  once 
contained  a  mention  of  Tilbury  Foster.  Sally's 
patience  broke  down  at  this  point,  and  he  said,  re 
sentfully: 

"Damn  his  livers,  he's  immortal!" 

Aleck  gave  him  a  very  severe  rebuke,  and  added, 
with  icy  solemnity: 

"How  would  you  feel  if  you  were  suddenly  cut  off 
just  after  such  an  awful  remark  had  escaped  out  of 
you?" 

Without  sufficient  reflection  Sally  responded: 

"I'd  feel  I  was  lucky  I  hadn't  got  caught  with  it 
in  me." 

Pride  had  forced  him  to  say  something,  and  as  he 
could  not  think  of  any  rational  thing  to  say  he  flung 
that  out.  Then  he  stole  a  base — as  he  called  it — that 
is,  slipped  from  the  presence,  to  keep  from  getting 
brayed  in  his  wife's  discussion-mortar. 

Six  months  came  and  went.  The  Sagamore  was 
still  silent  about  Tilbury.  Meantime,  Sally  had  sev 
eral  times  throwrn  out  a  feeler — that  is,  a  hint  that 
he  would  like  to  know.  Aleck  had  ignored  the  hints. 
Sally  now  resolved  to  brace  up  and  risk  a  frontal 


1 8  The  $30,000  Bequest 

attack.  So  he  squarely  proposed  to  disguise  himself 
and  go  to  Tilbury's  village  and  surreptitiously  find 
out  as  to  the  prospects.  Aleck  put  her  foot  on  the 
dangerous  project  with  energy  and  decision.  She 
said: 

"What  can  you  be  thinking  of?  You  do  keep  my 
hands  full!  You  have  to  be  watched  all  the  time, 
like  a  little  child,  to  keep  you  from  walking  into  the 
fire.  You'll  stay  right  were  you  are!" 

"  Why,  Aleck,  I  could  do  it  and  not  be  found  out — 
I'm  certain  of  it." 

''Sally  Foster,  don't  you  know  you  would  have  to 
inquire  around?" 

."Of  course,  but  what  of  it?  Nobody  would  sus 
pect  who  I  was." 

"Oh,  listen  to  the  man!  Some  day  you've  got  to 
prove  to  the  executors  that  you  never  inquired. 
What  then?" 

He  had  forgotten  that  detail.  He  didn't  reply; 
there  wasn't  anything  to  say.  Aleck  added: 

"Now  then,  drop  that  notion  out  of  your  mind, 
and  don't  ever  meddle  with  it  again.  Tilbury  set 
that  trap  for  you.  Don't  you  know  it's  a  trap  ?  He 
is  on  the  watch,  and  fully  expecting  you  to  blunder 
into  it.  Well,  he  is  going  to  be  disappointed — at 
least  while  I  am  on  deck.  Sally!" 
"Well?" 

"As  long  as  you  live,  if  it's  a  hundred  years,  don't 
you  ever  make  an  inquiry.     Promise!" 
"All  right,"  with  a  sigh  and  reluctantlv. 


The  $30,000  Bequest  19 

Then  Aleck  softened  and  said: 

"  Don't  be  impatient.  We  are  prospering;  we  can 
wait;  there  is  no  hurry.  Our  small  dead-certain  in 
come  increases  all  the  time;  and  as  to  futures,  I  have 
not  made  a  mistake  yet — they  are  piling  up  by  the 
thousands  and  the  tens  of  thousands.  There  is  not 
another  family  in  the  State  with  such  prospects  as 
ours.  Already  we  are  beginning  to  roll  in  eventual 
wealth.  You  know  that,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  Aleck,  it's  certainly  so." 

"Then  be  grateful  for  what  God  is  doing  for  us, 
and  stop  worrying.  You  do  not  believe  we  could 
have  achieved  these  prodigious  results  without  His 
special  help  and  guidance,  do  you?" 

Hesitatingly,  "N-no,  I  suppose  not."  Then,  with 
feeling  and  admiration,  "And  yet,  when  it  comes  to 
judiciousness  in  watering  a  stock  or  putting  up  a 
hand  to  skin  Wall  Street  I  don't  give  in  that  you 
need  any  outside  amateur  help,  if  I  do  I  wish  I— 

"Oh,  do  shut  up!  I  know  you  do  not  mean  any 
harm  or  any  irreverence,  poor  boy,  but  you  can't 
seem  to  open  your  mouth  without  letting  out  things 
to  make  a  person  shudder.  You  keep  me  in  constant 
dread.  For  you  and  for  all  of  us.  Once  I  had  no 
fear  of  the  thunder,  but  now  when  I  hear  it  I — " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  began  to  cry,  and  could 
not  finish.  The  sight  of  this  smote  Sally  to  the  heart 
and  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  petted  her  and  com 
forted  her  and  promised  better  conduct,  and  upbraid 
ed  himself  and  remorsefully  pleaded  for  forgiveness. 


20  The  $30,000  Bequest 

And  he  was  in  earnest,  and  sorry  for  what  he  had 
done  and  ready  for  any  sacrifice  that  could  make  up 
for  it. 

And  so,  in  privacy,  he  thought  long  and  deeply  over 
the  matter,  resolving  to  do  what  should  seem  best. 
It  was  easy  to  promise  reform ;  indeed  he  had  already 
promised  it.  But  would  that  do  any  real  good,  any 
permanent  good?  No,  it  would  be  but  temporary- 
he  knew  his  weakness,  and  confessed  it  to  himself  with 
sorrow — he  could  not  keep  the  promise.  Something 
surer  and  better  must  be  devised ;  and  he  devised  it. 
At  cost  of  precious  money  which  he  had  long  been 
saving  up,  shilling  by  shilling,  he  put  a  lightning-rod 
on  the  house. 

At  a  subsequent  time  he  relapsed. 

What  miracles  habit  can  do!  and  how  quickly  and 
how  easily  habits  are  acquired — both  trifling  habits 
and  habits  which  profoundly  change  us.  If  by  acci 
dent  we  wake  at  two  in  the  morning  a  couple  of  nights 
in  succession,  we  have  need  to  be  uneasy,  for  another 
repetition  can  turn  the  accident  into  a  habit;  and  a 
month's  dallying  with  whiskey — but  we  all  know  these 
commonplace  facts. 

The  castle-building  habit,  the  day-dreaming  habit 
— how  it  grows!  what  a  luxury  it  becomes;  how  we 
fly  to  its  enchantments  at  every  idle  moment,  how  we 
revel  in  them,  steep  our  souls  in  them,  intoxicate 
ourselves  with  their  beguiling  fantasies — oh  yes,  and 
how  soon  and  how  easily  our  dream-life  and  our 
material  life  become  so  intermingled  and  so  fused 


The  $30,000  Bequest  21 

together  that  we  can't  quite  tell  which  is  which,  any 
more. 

By-and-by  Aleck  subscribed  for  a  Chicago  daily 
and  for  the  Wall  Street  Pointer.  With  an  eye  single 
to  finance  she  studied  these  as  diligently  all  the  week 
as  she  studied  her  Bible  Sundays.  Sally  was  lost  in 
admiration,  to  note  with  what  swift  and  sure  strides 
her  genius  and  judgment  developed  and  expanded  in 
the  forecasting  and  handling  of  the  securities  of  both 
the  material  and  spiritual  markets.  He  was  proud 
of  her  nerve  and  daring  in  exploiting  worldly  stocks, 
and  just  as  proud  of  her  conservative  caution  in  work 
ing  her  spiritual  deals.  He  noted  that  she  never  lost 
her  head  in  either  case ;  that  with  a  splendid  courage 
she  often  went  short  on  worldly  futures,  but  needfully 
drew  the  line  there — she  was  always  long  on  the 
others.  Her  policy  was  quite  sane  and  simple,  as 
she  explained  it  to  him:  what  she  put  into  earthly 
futures  was  for  speculation,  what  she  put  into  spir 
itual  futures  was  for  investment;  she  was  willing  to 
go  into  the  one  on  a  margin,  and  take  chances,  but 
in  the  case  of  the  other,  "margin  her  no  margins" 
— she  wanted  to  cash-in  a  hundred  cents  per  dol 
lar 's-worth,  and  have  the  stock  transferred  on  the 
books. 

It  took  but  a  very  few  months  to  educate  Aleck's 
imagination  and  Sally's.  Each  day's  training  added 
something  to  the  spread  and  effectiveness  of  the  two 
machines.  As  a  consequence,  Aleck  made  imaginary 
money  much  faster  than  at  first  she  had  dreamed  of 


22  The  $30,000  Bequest 

making  it,  and  Sally's  competency  in  spending  the 
overflow  of  it  kept  pace  with  the  strain  put  upon  it, 
right  along.  In  the  beginning,  Aleck  had  given  the 
coal  speculation  a  twelvemonth  in  which  to  material 
ize,  and  had  been  loath  to  grant  that  this  term  might 
possibly  be  shortened  by  nine  months.  But  that  was 
the  feeble  work,  the  nursery  work,  of  a  financial  fancy 
that  had  had  no  teaching,  no  experience,  no  practice. 
These  aids  soon  came,  then  that  nine  months  van 
ished,  and  the  imaginary  ten -thousand-dollar  invest 
ment  came  marching  home  with  three  hundred  per 
cent,  profit  on  its  back! 

It  was  a  great  day  for  the  pair  of  Fosters.  They 
were  speechless  for  joy.  Also  speechless  for  another 
reason:  after  much  watching  of  the  market,  Aleck 
had  lately,  with  fear  and  trembling,  made  her  first 
flyer  on  a  "margin,"  using  the  remaining  twenty  thou 
sand  of  the  bequest  in  this  risk.  In  her  mind's  eye 
she  had  seen  it  climb,  point  by  point — always  with  a 
chance  that  the  market  would  break — until  at  last 
her  anxieties  were  too  great  for  further  endurance — 
she  being  new  to  the  margin-business  and  unhard- 
ened,  as  yet — and  she  gave  her  imaginary  broker  an 
imaginary  order  by  imaginary  telegraph  to  sell.  She 
said  forty  thotisand  dollars  profit  was  enough.  The 
sale  was  made  on  the  very  day  that  the  coal-venture 
had  returned  with  its  rich  freight.  As  I  have  said, 
the  couple  were  speechless.  They  sat  dazed  and  bliss 
ful  that  night,  trying  to  realize  the  immense  fact,  the 
overwhelming  fac£,  that  they  were  actually  worth  a 


The  $30,000  Bequest  23 

hundred  thousand  dollars  in  clean,  imaginary  cash. 
Yet  so  it  was. 

It  was  the  last  time  that  ever  Aleck  was  afraid  of 
a  margin;  at  least  afraid  enough  to  let  it  break  her 
sleep  and  pale  her  cheek  to  the  extent  that  this  first 
experience  in  that  line  had  done. 

Indeed  it  was  a  memorable  night.  Gradually  the 
realization  that  they  were  rich  sank  securely  home 
into  the  souls  of  the  pair,  then  they  began  to  place 
the  money.  If  we  could  have  looked  out  through  the 
eyes  of  these  dreamers,  we  should  have  seen  their  tidy 
little  wooden  house  disappear,  and  a  two-story  brick 
with  a  cast-iron  fence  in  front  of  it  take  its  place ;  we 
should  have  seen  a  three-globed  gas-chandelier  grow 
down  from  the  parlor  ceiling;  we  should  have  seen 
the  homely  rag  carpet  turn  to  noble  Brussels,  a  dollar 
and  a  half  a  yard ;  we  should  have  seen  the  plebeian 
fireplace  vanish  away  and  a  recherche',  big  base-burner 
with  isinglass  windows  take  position  and  spread  awe 
around.  And  we  should  have  seen  other  things,  too; 
among  them  the  buggy,  the  lap-robe,  the  stove-pipe 
hat,  and  so  on. 

From  that  time  forth,  although  the  daughters  and 
the  neighbors  saw  only  the  same  old  wooden  house 
there,  it  was  a  two-story  brick  to  Aleck  and  Sally; 
and  not  a  night  went  by  that  Aleck  did  not  worry 
about  the  imaginary  gas-bills,  and  get  for  all  comfort 
Sally's  reckless  retort,  "What  of  it?  we  can  afford 
it." 

Before  the  couple  went  to  bed,  that  first  night  that 


24  The  $30,000  Bequest 

they  were  rich,  they  had  decided  that  they  must  cele 
brate.  They  must  give  a  party — that  was  the  idea. 
But  how  to  explain  it — to  the  daughters  and  the 
neighbors  ?  They  could  not  expose  the  fact  that  they 
were  rich.  Sally  was  willing,  even  anxious,  to  do  it; 
but  Aleck  kept  her  head  and  would  not  allow  it.  She 
said  that  although  the  money  was  as  good  as  in,  it 
would  be  as  well  to  wait  until  it  was  actually  in.  On 
that  policy  she  took  her  stand,  and  would  not  budge. 
The  great  secret  must  be  kept,  she  said — kept  from 
the  daughters  and  everybody  else. 

The  pair  were  puzzled.  They  must  celebrate,  they 
were  determined  to  celebrate,  but  since  the  secret 
must  be  kept,  what  could  they  celebrate  ?  No  birth 
days  were  due  for  three  months.  Tilbury  wasn't 
available,  evidently  he  was  going  to  live  forever; 
what  the  nation  could  they  celebrate?  That  was 
Sally's  way  of  putting  it;  and  he  was  getting  impa 
tient,  too,  and  harassed.  But  at  last  he  hit  it — just 
by  sheer  inspiration,  as  it  seemed  to  him — and  all 
their  troubles  were  gone  in  a  moment;  they  would 
celebrate  the  Discovery  of  America.  A  splendid  idea! 

Aleck  was  almost  too  proud  of  Sally  for  words — 
she  said  she  never  would  have  thought  of  it.  But 
Sally,  although  he  was  bursting  with  delight  in  the 
compliment  and  with  wonder  at  himself,  tried  not  to 
let  on,  and  said  it  wasn't  really  anything,  anybody 
could  have  done  it.  Whereat  Aleck,  with  a  prideful 
toss  of  her  happy  head,  said: 

"Oh,  certainly!     Anybody  could  —  oh,  anybody! 


The  $30,000  Bequest  25 

Hosannah  Dilkins,  for  instance!  Or  maybe  Adelbert 
Peanut — oh,  dear — yes!  Well,  I'd  like  to  see  them 
try  it,  that's  all.  Dear-me-suz,  if  they  could  think 
of  the  discovery  of  a  forty-acre  island  it's  more  than 
/  believe  they  could;  and  as  for  a  whole  continent, 
why,  Sally  Foster,  you  know  perfectly  well  it  would 
strain  the  livers  and  lights  out  of  them  and  then  they 
couldn't!" 

The  dear  woman,  she  knew  he  had  talent;  and  if 
affection  made  her  over-estimate  the  size  of  it  a  little, 
surely  it  was  a  sweet  and  gentle  crime,  and  forgive- 
able  for  its  source's  sake. 


THE  celebration  went  off  well.  The  friends  were 
all  present,  both  the  young  and  the  old.  Among  the 
young  were  Flossie  and  Gracie  Peanut  and  their 
brother  Adelbert,  who  was  a  rising  young  journeyman 
tinner,  also  Hosannah  Dilkins,  Jr.,  journeyman  plas 
terer,  just  out  of  his  apprenticeship.  For  many 
months  Adelbert  and  Hosannah  had  been  showing 
interest  in  Gwendolen  and  Clytemnestra  Foster,  and 
the  parents  of  the  girls  had  noticed  this  with  private 
satisfaction.  But  they  suddenly  realized  now  that 
that  feeling  had  passed.  They  recognized  that  the 
changed  financial  conditions  had  raised  up  a  social 
bar  between  their  daughters  and  the  young  mechanics. 
The  daughters  could  now  look  higher — and  must. 
Yes,  must.  They  need  marry  nothing  below  the 
grade  of  lawyer  or  merchant;  poppa  and  momma 
would  take  care  of  this;  there  must  be  no  mesalli 
ances. 

However,  these  thinkings  and  projects  of  theirs 
were  private,  and  did  not  show  on  the  surface,  and 
therefore  threw  no  shadow  upon  the  celebration. 
What  showed  upon  the  surface  was  a  serene  and  lofty 
contentment  and  a  dignity  of  carriage  and  gravity  of 
deportment  which  compelled  the  admiration  and 


The  $30,000  Bequest  27 

likewise  the  wonder  of  the  company.  All  noticed  it, 
all  commented  upon  it,  but  none  was  able  to  divine 
the  secret  of  it.  It  was  a  marvel  and  a  mystery. 
Three  several  persons  remarked,  without  suspecting 
what  clever  shots  they  were  making: 

"It's  as  if  they'd  come  into  property." 

That  was  just  it,  indeed. 

Most  mothers  would  have  taken  hold  of  the  matri 
monial  matter  in  the  old  regulation  way ;  they  would 
have  given  the  girls  a  talking  to,  of  a  solemn  sort  and 
untactful — a  lecture  calculated  to  defeat  its  own  pur 
pose,  by  producing  tears  and  secret  rebellion;  and 
the  said  mothers  would  have  further  damaged  the 
business  by  requesting  the  young  mechanics  to  dis 
continue  their  attentions.  But  this  mother  was  dif 
ferent.  She  was  practical.  She  said  nothing  to  any 
of  the  young  people  concerned,  nor  to  any  one  else 
except  Sally.  He  listened  to  her  and  understood; 
understood  and  admired.  He  said: 

"I  get  the  idea.  Instead  of  finding  fault  with  the 
samples  on  view,  thus  hurting  feelings  and  obstruct 
ing  trade  without  occasion,  you  merely  offer  a  higher 
class  of  goods  for  the  money,  and  leave  nature  to  take 
her  course.  It's  wisdom,  Aleck,  solid  wisdom,  and 
sound  as  a  nut.  Who's  your  fish  ?  Have  you  nomi 
nated  him  yet?" 

"  No,  she  hadn't.  They  must  look  the  market  over 
— which  they  did.  To  start  with,  they  considered 
and  discussed  B radish,  rising  young  lawyer,  and  Ful 
ton,  rising  young  dentist.  Sally  must  invite  them  to 


28  The  $30,000  Bequest 

dinner.  But  not  right  away;  there  was  no  hurry, 
Aleck  said.  Keep  an  eye  on  the  pair,  and  wait; 
nothing  would  be  lost  by  going  slowly  in  so  important 
a  matter. 

It  turned  out  that  this  was  wisdom,  too ;  for  inside 
of  three  weeks  Aleck  made  a  wonderful  strike  which 
swelled  her  imaginary  hundred  thousand  to  four  hun 
dred  thousand  of  the  same  quality.  She  and  Sally 
were  in  the  clouds  that  evening.  For  the  first  time 
they  introduced  champagne  at  dinner.  Not  real 
champagne,  but  plenty  real  enough  for  the  amount  of 
imagination  expended  on  it.  It  was  Sally  that  did 
it,  and  Aleck  weakly  submitted.  At  bottom  both 
were  troubled  and  ashamed,  for  he  was  a  high-up  Son 
of  Temperance,  and  at  funerals  wore  an  apron  which 
no  dog  could  look  upon  and  retain  his  reason  and  his 
opinion ;  and  she  was  a  W.  C.  T.  U.,  with  all  that  that 
implies  of  boiler-iron  virtue  and  unendurable  holiness. 
But  there  it  was;  the  pride  of  riches  was  beginning  • 
its  disintegrating  work.  They  had  lived  to  prove, 
once  more,  a  sad  truth  which  had  been  proven  many  \ 
times  before  in  the  world:  that  whereas  principle  is 
a  great  and  noble  protection  against  showy  and  de 
grading  vanities  and  vices,  poverty  is  worth  six  of  it. 
More  than  four  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  the  good ! 
The}7  took  up  the  matrimonial  matter  again.  Neither 
the  dentist  nor  the  lawyer  was  mentioned ;  there  was 
no  occasion,  they  were  out  of  the  running.  Disquali 
fied.  They  discussed  the  son  of  the  pork-packer  and 
the  son  of  the  village  banker.  But  finally,  as  in  the 


The  $30,000  Bequest  29 

previous  case,  they  concluded  to  wait  and  think,  and 
go  cautiously  and  sure. 

Luck  came  their  way  again.  Aleck,  ever  watchful, 
saw  a  great  and  risky  chance,  and  took  a  daring  flyer. 
A  time  of  trembling,  of  doubt,  of  awful  uneasiness  fol 
lowed,  for  non-success  meant  absolute  ruin  and  noth 
ing  short  of  it.  Then  came  the  result,  and  Aleck,  faint 
with  joy,  could  hardly  control  her  voice  when  she 
said: 

"The  suspense  is  over,  Sally — and  we  are  worth  a 
cold  million!" 

Sally  wept  for  gratitude,  and  said: 

"  Oh,  Electra,  jewel  of  women,  darling  of  my  heart, 
we  are  free  at  last,  we  roll  in  wealth,  we  need  never 
scrimp  again,  It's  a  case  for  Veuve  Cliquot!"  and  he 
got  out  a  pint  of  spruce-beer  and  made  sacrifice,  he 
saying  "Damn  the  expense,"  and  she  rebuking  him 
gently  with  reproachful  but  humid  and  happy  eyes. 

They  shelved  the  pork-packer's  son  and  the  banker's 
son,  and  sat  down  to  consider  the  Governor's  son  and 
the  son  of  the  Congressman. 


VI 


IT  were  a  weariness  to  follow  in  detail  the  leaps  and 
bounds  the  Foster  fictitious  finances  took  from  this 
time  forth.  It  was  marvellous,  it  was  dizzying,  it 
was  dazzling.  Everything  Aleck  touched  turned  to 
fairy  gold,  and  heaped  itself  glittering  towards  the 
firmament.  Millions  upon  millions  poured  in,  and 
still  the  mighty  stream  flowed  thundering  along,  still 
its  vast  volume  increased.  Five  millions — ten  mil 
lions — twenty — thirty — was  there  never  to  be  an  end  ? 

Two  years  swept  by  in  a  splendid  delirium,  the 
intoxicated  Fosters  scarcely  noticing  the  flight  of 
time.  They  were  now  worth  three  hundred  million 
dollars;  they  were  in  every  board  of  directors  of 
every  prodigious  combine  in  the  country;  and  still, 
as  time  drifted  along,  the  millions  went  on  piling  up,  • 
five  at  a  time,  ten  at  a  time,  as  fast  as  they  could  tally 
them  off,  almost.  The  three  hundred  doubled  itself 
— then  doubled  again — and  yet  again — and  yet  once 
more. 

Twenty -four  hundred  millions! 

The  business  was  getting  a  little  confused.  It  was 
necessary  to  take  an  account  of  stock,  and  straighten 
it  out.  The  Fosters  knew  it,  they  felt  it,  they  realized 
that  it  was  imperative ;  but  they  also  knew  that  to  do 


The  $30,000  Bequest  31 

it  properly  and  perfectly  the  task  must  be  carried  to 
a  finish  without  a  break  when  once  it  was  begun.  A 
ten-hours'  job;  and  where  could  they  find  ten  leisure 
hours  in  a  bunch?  Sally  was  selling  pins  and  sugar 
and  calico  all  day  and  every  day ;  Aleck  was  cooking 
and  washing  dishes  and  sweeping  and  making  beds 
all  day  and  every  day,  with  none  to  help,  for  the 
daughters  were  being  saved  up  for  high  society.  The 
Fosters  knew  there  was  one  way  to  get  the  ten  hours, 
and  only  one.  Both  were  ashamed  to  name  it;  each 
waited  for  the  other  to  do  it.  Finally  Sally  said: 

"Somebody's  got  to  give  in.  It's  up  to  me.  Con 
sider  that  I've  named  it — never  mind  pronouncing  it 
out  loud." 

Aleck  colored,  but  was  grateful.  Without  further 
remark,  they  fell.  Fell,  and — broke  the  Sabbath. 
For  that  was  their  only  free  ten-hour  stretch.  It  was 
but  another  step  in  the  downward  path.  Others 
would  follow.  Vast  wealth  has  temptations  which 
fatally  and  surely  undermine  the  moral  structure  of 
persons  not  habituated  to  its  possession. 

They  pulled  down  the  shades  and  broke  the  Sab 
bath.  With  hard  and  patient  labor  they  overhauled 
their  holdings  and  listed  them.  And  a  long-drawn 
procession  of  formidable  names  it  was!  Starting 
with  the  Railway  Systems,  Steamer  Lines,  Standard 
Oil,  Ocean  Cables,  Diluted  Telegraph,  and  all  the  rest, 
and  winding  up  with  Klondike,  De  Beers,  Tammany 
Graft,  and  Shady  Privileges  in  the  Post-office  De 
partment, 


32  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Twenty -four  hundred  millions,  and  all  safely  plant 
ed  in  Good  Things,  gilt-edged  and  interest-bearing. 
Income,  $120,000  ooo  a  year.  Aleck  fetched  a  long 
purr  of  soft  delight,  and  said: 

"Is  it  enough?" 

"It  is,  Aleck." 

"What  shall  we  do?" 

"Stand  pat." 

"Retire  from  business?" 

"That's  it." 

" I  am  agreed.  The  good  work  is  finished;  we  will 
take  a  long  rest  and  enjoy  the  money." 

"Good!     Aleck!" 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"How  much  of  the  income  can  we  spend?" 

"The  whole  of  it." 

It  seemed  to  her  husband  that  a  ton  of  chains  fell 
from  his  limbs.  He  did  not  say  a  word;  he  was 
happy  beyond  the  power  of  speech. 

After  that,  they  broke  the  Sabbaths  right  along, 
as  fast  as  they  turned  up.  It  is  the  first  wrong  steps 
that  count.  Every  Sunday  they  put  in  the  whole 
day,  after  morning  service,  on  inventions — inven 
tions  of  ways  to  spend  the  money.  They  got  to  con 
tinuing  this  delicious  dissipation  until  past  midnight; 
and  at  every  seance  Aleck  lavished  millions  upon 
great  charities  and  religious  enterprises,  and  Sally 
lavished  like  sums  upon  matters  to  which  (at  first) 
he  gave  definite  names.  Only  at  first.  Later  the 
names  gradually  lost  sharpness  of  outline,  and 


The  $30,000  Bequest  33 

eventually  faded  into  "sundries,"  thus  becoming 
entirely — but  safely — undescriptive.  For  Sally  was 
crumbling.  The  placing  of  these  millions  added 
seriously  and  most  uncomfortably  to  the  family  ex 
penses — in  tallow  candles.  For  a  while  Aleck  was 
worried.  Then,  after  a  little,  she  ceased  to  worry, 
for  the  occasion  of  it  was  gone.  She  was  pained, 
she  was  grieved,  she  was  ashamed;  but  she  said 
nothing,  and  so  became  an  accessory.  Sally  was 
taking  candles ;  he  was  robbing  the  store.  It  is  ever 
thus.  Vast  wealth,  to  the  person  unaccustomed  to 
it,  is  a  bane;  it  eats  into  the  flesh  and  bone  of  his 
morals.  When  the  Fosters  were  poor,  they  could 
have  been  trusted  with  untold  candles.  But  now 
they — but  let  us  not  dwell  upon  it.  From  candles  to 
apples  is  but  a  step :  Sally  got  to  taking  apples ;  then 
soap;  then  maple -sugar;  then  canned  -  goods ;  then 
crockery.  How  easy  it  is  to  go  from  bad  to  worse, 
when  once  we  have  started  upon  a  downward  course! 
Meantime,  other  effects  had  been  milestoning  the 
course  of  the  Fosters'  splendid  financial  march.  The 
fictitious  brick  -  dwelling  had  given  place  to  an  im 
aginary  granite  one  with  a  checker-board  mansard 
roof;  in  time  this  one  disappeared  and  gave  place  to 
a  still  grander  home — and  so  on  and  so  on.  Man 
sion  after  mansion,  made  of  air,  rose,  higher,  broader, 
finer,  and  each  in  its  turn  vanished  away ;  until  now, 
in  these  latter  great  days,  our  dreamers  were  in 
fancy  housed,  in  a  distant  region,  in  a  sumptuous 
vast  palace  which  looked  out  from  a  leafy  summit 


34  The  ,130,000  Bequest 

upon  a  noble  prospect  of  vale  and  river  and  receding 
hills  steeped  in  tinted  mists — and  all  private,  all  the 
property  of  the  dreamers;  a  palace  swarming  with 
liveried  servants,  and  populous  with  guests  of  fame 
and  power,  hailing  from  all  the  world's  capitals, 
foreign  and  domestic. 

This  palace  was  far,  far  away  towards  the  rising 
sun,  immeasurably  remote,  astronomically  remote, 
in  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  Holy  Land  of  High  So 
ciety,  ineffable  Domain  of  the  American  Aristocracy. 
As  a  rule,  they  spent  a  part  of  every  Sabbath — after 
morning  service — in  this  sumptuous  home,  the  rest 
of  it  they  spent  in  Europe,  or  in  dawdling  around  in 
their  private  yacht.  Six  days  of  sordid  and  plodding 
Fact-life  at  home  on  the  ragged  edge  of  Lakeside 
and  straitened  means,  the  seventh  in  Fairyland — 
such  had  become  their  programme  and  their  habit. 

In  their  sternly  restricted  Fact-life  they  remained 
as  of  old  —  plodding,  diligent,  careful,  practical, 
economical.  They  stuck  loyally  to  the  little  Presby 
terian  Church,  and  labored  faithfully  in  its  interests 
and  stood  by  its  high  and  tough  doctrines  with  all 
their  mental  and  spiritual  energies.  But  in  their 
Dream-life  they  obeyed  the  invitations  of  their 
fancies,  whatever  they  might  be,  and  howsoever  the 
fancies  might  change.  Aleck's  fancies  were  not  very 
capricious,  and  not  frequent,  but  Sally's  scattered  a 
good  deal.  Aleck,  in  her  dream -life,  went  over  to 
the  Episcopal  camp,  on  account  of  its  large  official 
titles;  next  she  became  High-church  on  account  of 


The  $30,000  Bequest  35 

the  candles  and  shows;  and  next  she  naturally 
changed  to  Rome,  where  there  were  cardinals  and 
more  candles.  But  these  excursions  were  as  nothing 
to  Sally's.  His  Dream-life  was  a  glowing  and  con 
tinuous  and  persistent  excitement,  and  he  kept 
every  part  of  it  fresh  and  sparkling  by  frequent 
changes,  the  religious  part  along  with  the  rest.  He 
worked  his  religions  hard,  and  changed  them  with 
his  shirt. 

The  liberal  spendings  of  the  Fosters  upon  their 
fancies  began  early  in  their  prosperities,  and  grew  in 
prodigality  step  by  step  with  their  advancing  fort 
unes.  In  time  they  became  truly  enormous.  Aleck 
built  a  university  or  two  per  Sunday ;  also  a  hospital 
or  two;  also  a  Rowton  hotel  or  so;  also  a  batch  of 
churches;  now  and  then  a  cathedral;  and  once,  with 
untimely  and  ill-chosen  playfulness,  Sally  said,  "It 
was  a  cold  day  when  she  didn't  ship  a  cargo  of  mis 
sionaries  to  persuade  unreflecting  Chinamen  to  trade 
off  twenty-four  carat  Confucianism  for  counterfeit 
Christianity." 

This  rude  and  unfeeling  language  hurt  Aleck  to 
the  heart,  and  she  went  from  the  presence  crying. 
That  spectacle  went  to  his  own  heart,  and  in  his  pain 
and  shame  he  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  those 
unkind  words  back.  She  had  uttered  no  syllable  of 
reproach — and  that  cut  him.  Not  one  suggestion 
that  he  look  at  his  own  record — and  she  could  have 
made,  oh,  so  many,  and  such  blistering"  ones!  Her 
generous  silence  brought  a  swift  revenge,  for  it  turned 


}6  The  $30,000  Bequest 

his  thoughts  upon  himself,  it  summoned  before  him 
a  spectral  procession,  a  moving  vision  of  his  life  as 
he  had  been  leading  it  these  past  few  years  of  limit 
less  prosperity,  and  as  he  sat  there  reviewing  it  his 
cheeks  burned  and  his  soul  was  steeped  in  humilia 
tion.  Look  at  her  life— 1how  fair  it  was,  and  tending 
ever  upward;  and  look  at  his  own — how  frivolous, 
how  charged  with  mean  vanities,  how  selfish,  how 
empty,  how  ignoble!  And  its  trend — never  upward, 
but  downward,  ever  downward! 

He  instituted  comparisons  between  her  record  and 
his  own.  He  had  found  fault  with  her — so  he  mused 
— he!  And  what  could  he  say  for  himself?  When 
she  built  her  first  church  what  was  he  doing  ?  Gath 
ering  other  blase  multimillionaires  into  a  Poker 
Club ;  defiling  his  own  palace  with  it ;  losing  hundreds 
of  thousands  to  it  at  every  sitting,  and  sillily  vain  of 
the  admiring  notoriety  it  made  for  him.  When  she 
was  building  her  first  university,  what  was  he  doing  ? 
Polluting  himself  with  a  gay  and  dissipated  secret 
life  in  the  company  of  other  fast  bloods,  multimill 
ionaires  in  money  and  paupers  in  character.  When 
she  was  building  her  first  foundling  asylum,  what 
was  he  doing?  Alas!  When  she  was  projecting  her 
noble  Society  for  the  Purifying  of  the  Sex,  what  was 
he  doing?  Ah,  what,  indeed!  When  she  and  the 
W.  C.  T.  U.  and  the  Woman  with  the  Hatchet,  mov 
ing  with  resistless  march,  were  sweeping  the  fatal 
bottle  from  the  land,  what  was  he  doing?  Getting 
drunk  three  times  a  day.  When  she,  builder  of  a 


The  $30,000  Bequest  y] 

hundred  cathedrals,  was  being  gratefully  welcomed 
and  blest  in  papal  Rome  and  decorated  with  the 
Golden  Rose  which  she  had  so  honorably  earned, 
what  was  he  doing?  Breaking  the  bank  at  Monte 
Carlo. 

He  stopped.  He  could  go  no  farther;  he  could  not 
bear  the  rest.  He  rose  up,  with  a  great  resolution 
upon  his  lips:  this  secret  life  should  be  revealed,  and 
confessed;  no  longer  would  he  live  it  clandestinely; 
he  would  go  and  tell  her  All. 

And  that  is  what  he  did.  He  told  her  All;  and 
wept  upon  her  bosom;  wept,  and  moaned,  and 
begged  for  her  forgiveness.  It  was  a  profound 
shock,  and  she  staggered  under  the  blow,  but  he  was 
her  own,  the  core  of  her  heart,  the  blessing  of  her 
eyes,  her  all  in  all,  she  could  deny  him  nothing,  and 
she  forgave  him.  She  felt  that  he  could  never  again 
be  quite  to  her  what  he  had  been  before;  she  knew 
that  he  could  only  repent,  and  not  reform;  yet  all 
morally  defaced  and  decayed  as  he  was,  was  he  not 
her  own,  her  very  own,  the  idol  of  her  deathless  wor 
ship?  She  said  she  was  his  serf,  his  slave,  and  she 
opened  her  yearning  heart  and  took  him  in. 


VII 


ONE  Sunday  afternoon  some  time  after  this  they 
were  sailing  the  summer  seas  in  their  dream-yacht, 
and  reclining  in  lazy  luxury  under  the  awning  of  the 
after -deck.  There  was  silence,  for  each  was  busy 
with  his  own  thoughts.  These  seasons  of  silence 
had  insensibly  been  growing  more  and  more  frequent 
of  late;  the  old  nearness  and  cordiality  were  waning. 
Sally's  terrible  revelation  had  done  its  work;  Aleck 
had  tried  hard  to  drive  the  memory  of  it  out  of  her 
mind,  but  it  would  not  go,  and  the  shame  and  bit 
terness  of  it  were  poisoning  her  gracious  dream-life. 
She  could  see  now  (on  Sundays)  that  her  husband 
was  becoming  a  bloated  and  repulsive  Thing.  She 
could  not  close  her  eyes  to  this,  and  in  these  days 
she  no  longer  looked  at  him,  Sundays,  when  she 
could  help  it. 

But  she — was  she  herself  without  blemish?  Alas, 
she  knew  she  was  not.  She  was  keeping  a  secret 
from  him,  she  was  acting  dishonorably  towards  him, 
and  many  a  pang  it  was  costing  her.  She  was  break 
ing  the  compact,  and  concealing  it  from  him.  Under 
strong  temptation  she  had  gone  into  business  again; 
she  had  risked  their  whole  fortune  in  a  purchase  of 
all  the  railway  systems  and  coal  and  steel  com- 


The  $30,000  Bequest  & 

panies  in  the  country  on  a  margin,  and  she  was  now 
trembling,  every  Sabbath  hour,  lest  through  some 
chance  word  of  hers  he  find  it  out.  In  her  misery 
and  remorse  for  this  treachery  she  could  not  keep 
her  heart  from  going  out  to  him  in  pity;  she  was 
filled  with  compunctions  to  see  him  lying  there, 
drunk  and  content,  and  never  suspecting.  Never 
suspecting — trusting  her  with  a  perfect  and  pathetic 
trust,  and  she  holding  over  him  by  a  thread  a  pos 
sible  calamity  of  so  devastating  a — 

"Say— Aleck?" 

The  interrupting  words  brought  her  suddenly  to 
herself.  She  was  grateful  to  have  that  persecuting 
subject  from  her  thoughts,  and  she  answered,  with 
much  of  the  old-time  tenderness  in  her  tone: 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Do  you  know,  Aleck,  I  think  we  are  making  a 
mistake — that  is,  you  are.  I  mean  about  the  mar 
riage  business."  He  sat  up,  fat  and  froggy  and 
benevolent,  like  a  bronze  Buddha,  and  grew  earnest. 
"Consider — it's  more  than  five  years.  You've  con 
tinued  the  same  policy  from  the  start:  with  every 
rise,  always  holding  on  for  five  points  higher.  Al 
ways  when  I  think  we  are  going  to  have  some  wed 
dings,  you  see  a  bigger  thing  ahead,  and  I  undergo 
another  disappointment.  /  think  you  are  too  hard 
to  please.  Some  day  we'll  get  left.  First,  we 
turned  down  the  dentist  and  the  lawyer.  That  was 
all  right — it  was  sound.  Next,  we  turned  down  the 
banker's  son  and  the  pork-butcher's  heir — right 


40  The  $30,000  Bequest 

again,  and  sound.  Next,  we  turned  down  the  Con 
gressman's  son  and  the  Governor's — right  as  a  trivet, 
I  confess  it.  Next,  the  Senator's  son  and  the  son  of 
the  Vice-President  of  the  United  States — perfectly 
right,  there's  no  permanency  about  those  little  dis 
tinctions.  Then  you  went  for  the  aristocracy;  and 
I  thought  we  had  struck  oil  at  last — yes.  We 
would  make  a  plunge  at  the  Four  Hundred,  and  pull 
in  some  ancient  lineage,  venerable,  holy,  ineffable, 
mellow  with  the  antiquity  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years,  disinfected  of  the  ancestral  odors  of  salt  cod 
and  pelts  all  of  a  century  ago,  and  unsmirched  by  a 
day's  work  since;  and  then!  why,  then  the  marriages, 
of  course.  But  no,  along  comes  a  pair  of  real  aristo 
crats  from  Europe,  and  straightway  you  throw  over 
the  half-breeds.  It  was  awfully  discouraging,  Aleck! 
Since  then,  what  a  procession!  You  turned  down 
the  baronets  for  a  pair  of  barons;  you  turned  down 
the  barons  for  a  pair  of  viscounts ;  the  viscounts  for  a 
pair  of  earls;  the  earls  for  a  pair  of  marquises;  the; 
marquises  for  a  brace  of  dukes.  Now,  Aleck,  cash- 
in! — you've  played  the  limit.  You've  got  a  job  lot 
of  four  dukes  under  the  hammer;  of  four  nationali 
ties;  all  sound  in  wind  and  limb  and  pedigree,  all 
bankrupt  and  in  debt  up  to  the  ears.  They  come 
high,  but  we  can  afford  it.  Come,  Aleck,  don't  de 
lay  any  longer,  don't  keep  up  the  suspense:  take  the 
whole  lay-out,  and  leave  the  girls  to  choose!" 

Aleck  had  been  smiling  blandly  and  contentedly 
all  through  this  arraignment  of  her  marriage-policy; 


The  $30,000  Bequest  41 

a  pleasant  light,  as  of  triumph  with  perhaps  a  nice 
surprise  peeping  out  through  it,  rose  in  her  eyes,  and 
she  said,  as  calmly  as  she  could: 

"Sally,  what  would  you  say  to — royalty?''' 

Prodigious!  Poor  man,  it  knocked  him  silly,  and 
he  fell  over  the  garboard-strake  and  barked  his  shin 
on  the  cat -heads.  He  was  dizzy  for  a  moment,  then 
he  gathered  himself  up  and  limped  over  and  sat 
down  by  his  wife  and  beamed  his  old-time  admira 
tion  and  affection  upon  her  in  floods,  out  of  his 
bleary  eyes. 

"By  George!"  he  said,  fervently,  "Aleck,  you  are 
great — the  greatest  woman  in  the  whole  earth!  I 
can't  ever  learn  the  whole  size  of  you.  I  can't  ever 
learn  the  immeasurable  deeps  of  you.  Here  I've 
been  considering  myself  qualified  to  criticise  your 
game.  //  Why,  if  I  had  stopped  to  think,  I'd  have 
known  you  had  a  lone  hand  up  your  sleeve.  Now, 
dear  heart,  I'm  all  red-hot  impatience — tell  me  about 
it!" 

The  flattered  and  happy  woman  put  her  lips  to 
his  ear  and  whispered  a  princely  name.  It  made 
him  catch  his  breath,  it  lit  his  face  with  exultation. 

"Land!"  he  said,  "it's  a  stunning  catch!  He's 
got  a  gambling-hell,  and  a  graveyard,  and  a  bishop, 
and  a  cathedral — all  his  very  own.  And  all  gilt- 
edged  five-hundred-per-cent.  stock,  every  detail  of 
it;  the  tidiest  little  property  in  Europe.  And  that 
graveyard — it's  the  selectest  in  the  world:  none  but 
suicides  admitted ;  yes,  sir,  and  the  free-list  suspended, 


42  The  $30,000  Bequest 

too,  all  the  time.  There  isn't  much  land  in  the 
principality,  but  there's  enough:  eight  hundred  acres 
in  the  graveyard  and  forty  -  two  outside.  It's  a 
sovereignty — that's  the  main  thing;  land's  nothing. 
There's  plenty  land,  Sahara's  drugged  with  it." 

Aleck  glowed;  she  was  profoundly  happy.  She 
said : 

"Think  of  it,  Sally — it  is  a  family  that  has  never 
married  outside  the  Royal  and  Imperial  Houses  of 
Europe:  our  grandchildren  will  sit  upon  thrones!" 

"True  as  you  live,  Aleck — and  bear  sceptres,  too; 
and  handle  them  as  naturally  and  nonchalantly  as 
I  handle  a  yardstick.  It's  a  grand  catch,  Aleck. 
He's  corralled,  is  he?  Can't  get  away?  You  didn't 
take  him  on  a  margin?" 

"No.  Trust  me  for  that.  He's  not  a  liability, 
he's  an  asset.  So  is  the  other  one." 

"Who  is  it,  Aleck?" 

"His  Royal  Highness  Sigismund-Siegfried-Lauen- 
feld-Dinkelspiel-Schwartzenberg  Blutwurst,  Heredi 
tary  Grand  Duke  of  Katzenyammer." 

"No!     You  can't  mean  it!" 

"It's  as  true  as  I'm  sitting  here,  I  give  you  my 
word,"  she  answered. 

His  cup  was  full,  and  he  hugged  her  to  his  heart 
with  rapture,  saying: 

"How  wonderful  it  all  seems,  and  how  beautiful! 
It's  one  of  the  oldest  and  noblest  of  the  three  hun 
dred  and  sixty-four  ancient  German  principalities, 
and  one  of  the  few  that  was  allowed  to  retain  its 


The  $30,000  Bequest  43 

royal  estate  when  Bismarck  got  done  trimming  them. 
I  know  that  farm,  I've  been  there.  It's  got  a  rope- 
walk  and  a  candle-factory  and  an  army.  Standing 
army.  Infantry  and  cavalry.  Three  soldiers  and  a 
horse.  Aleck,  it's  been  a  long  wait,  and  full  of 
heartbreak  and  hope  deferred,  but  God  knows  I  am 
happy  now.  Happy,  and  grateful  to  you,  my  own, 
who  have  done  it  all.  When  is  it  to  be?" 

"Next  Sunday." 

"Good.  And  we'll  want  to  do  these  weddings  up 
in  the  very  regalest  style  that's  going.  It's  properly 
due  to  the  royal  quality  of  the  parties  of  the  first 
part.  Now  as  I  understand  it,  there  is  only  one 
kind  of  marriage  that  is  sacred  to  royalty,  exclusive 
to  royalty:  it's  the  morganatic." 

"What  do  they  call  it  that  for,  Sally?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  anyway  it's  royal,  and  royal 
only." 

"Then  we  will  insist  upon  it.  More — I  will  com 
pel  it.  It  is  morganatic  marriage  or  none." 

"That  settles  it!"  said  Sally,  rubbing  his  hands 
with  delight.  "And  it  will  be  the  very  first  in 
America.  Aleck,  it  will  make  Newport  sick." 

Then  they  fell  silent,  and  drifted  away  upon  their 
dream-wings  to  the  far  regions  of  the  earth  to  invite 
all  the  crowned  heads  and  their  families  and  provide 
gratis  transportation  for  them. 


VIII 

DURING  three  days  the  couple  walked  upon  air, 
with  their  heads  in  the  clouds.  They  were  but 
vaguely  conscious  of  their  surroundings ;  they  saw  all 
things  dimly,  as  through  a  veil;  they  were  steeped  in 
dreams,  often  they  did  not  hear  when  they  were 
spoken  to;  they  often  did  not  understand  when  they 
heard;  they  answered  confusedly  or  at  random; 
Sally  sold  molasses  by  weight,  sugar  by  the  yard, 
and  furnished  soap  when  asked  for  candles,  and 
Aleck  put  the  cat  in  the  wash  and  fed  milk  to  the 
soiled  linen.  Everybody  was  stunned  and  amazed, 
and  went  about  muttering,  ''What  can  be  the  matter 
with  the  Fosters?" 

Three  days.  Then  came  events!  Things  had 
taken  a  happy  turn,  and  for  forty-eight  hours  Aleck's 
imaginary  corner  had  been  booming.  Up — up — still 
up!  Cost-point  was  passed.  Still  up — and  up — 
and  up!  Five  points  above  cost — then  ten — fifteen 
—twenty!  Twenty  points  cold  profit  on  the  vast 
venture,  now,  and  Aleck's  imaginary  brokers  were 
shouting  frantically  by  imaginary  long  -  distance, 
"Sell!  sell!  for  Heaven's  sake  sell!" 

She  broke  the  splendid  news  to  Sally,  and  he,  too, 
said,  "Sell!  sell — oh,  don't  make  a  blunder,  now, 


The  $30,000  Bequest  45 

you  own  the  earth! — sell,  sell!"  But  she  set  her  iron 
will  and  lashed  it  amidships,  and  said  she  would  hold 
on  for  five  points  more  if  she  died  for  it. 

It  was  a  fatal  resolve.  The  very  next  day  came 
the  historic  crash,  the  record  crash,  the  devastating 
crash,  when  the  bottom  fell  out  of  Wall  Street,  and 
the  whole  body  of  gilt-edged  stocks  dropped  ninety- 
five  points  in  five  hours,  and  the  multimillionaire 
was  seen  begging  his  bread  in  the  Bowery.  Aleck 
sternly  held  her  grip  and  "put  up"  as  long  as  she 
could,  but  at  last  there  came  a  call  which  she  was 
powerless  to  meet,  and  her  imaginary  brokers  sold 
her  out.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  the  man  in  her 
was  vanquished,  and  the  woman  in  her  resumed 
sway.  She  put  her  arms  about  her  husband's  neck 
and  wept,  saying: 

"I  am  to  blame,  do  not  forgive  me,  I  cannot  bear 
it.  We  are  paupers!  Paupers,  and  I  am  so  miser 
able.  The  weddings  will  never  come  off;  all  that  is 
past;  we  could  not  even  buy  the  dentist,  now." 

A  bitter  reproach  was  on  Sally's  tongue:  "I  begged 
you  to  sell,  but  you —  He  did  not  say  it;  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  add  a  hurt  to  that  broken  and  re 
pentant  spirit.  A  nobler  thought  came  to  him  and 
he  said: 

"Bear  up,  my  Aleck,  all  is  not  lost!  You  really 
never  invested  a  penny  of  my  uncle's  bequest,  but 
only  its  unmaterialized  future ;  what  we  have  lost  was 
only  the  increment  harvested  from  that  future  by 
your  incomparable  financial  judgment  and  sagacity. 


46  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Cheer  up,  banish  these  griefs;  we  still  have  the  thirty 
thousand  untouched ;  and  with  the  experience  which 
you  have  acquired,  think  what  you  will  be  able  to 
do  with  it  in  a  couple  of  years!  The  marriages  are 
not  off,  they  are  only  postponed." 

These  were  blessed  words.  Aleck  saw  how  true 
they  were,  and  their  influence  was  electric;  her  tears 
ceased  to  flow,  and  her  great  spirit  rose  to  its  full 
stature  again.  With  flashing  eye  and  grateful  heart, 
and  with  hand  uplifted  in  pledge  and  prophecy,  she 
said: 

"Now  and  here  I  proclaim — " 

But  she  was  interrupted  by  a  visitor.  It  was  the 
editor  and  proprietor  of  the  Sagamore.  He  had  hap 
pened  into  Lakeside  to  pay  a  duty-call  upon  an  ob 
scure  grandmother  of  his  who  was  nearing  the  end  of 
her  pilgrimage,  and  with  the  idea  of  combining  busi 
ness  with  grief  he  had  looked  up  the  Fosters,  who 
had  been  so  absorbed  in  other  things  for  the  past 
four  years  that  they  had  neglected  to  pay  up  their 
subscription.  Six  dollars  due.  No  visitor  could 
have  been  more  welcome.  He  would  know  all  about 
Uncle  Tilbury  and  what  his  chances  might  be  getting 
to  be,  cemetery  wards.  They  could,  of  course,  ask 
no  questions,  for  that  would  squelch  the  bequest, 
but  they  could  nibble  around  on  the  edge  of  the  sub 
ject  and  hope  for  results.  The  scheme  did  not  work. 
The  obtuse  editor  did  not  know  he  was  being  nibbled 
at;  but  at  last,  chance  accomplished  what  art  had 
failed  in.  In  illustration  of  something  under  discus- 


The  $30,000  Bequest  47 

sion  which  required  the  help  of  metaphor,  the  editor 
said : 

"Land,  it's  as  tough  as  Tilbury  Foster! — as  we 
say." 

It  was  sudden,  and  it  made  the  Fosters  jump. 
The  editor  noticed  it,  and  said,  apologetically: 

"No  harm  intended,  I  assure  you.  It's  just  a 
saying;  just  a  joke,  you  know — nothing  in  it.  Re 
lation  of  yours?" 

Sally  crowded  his  burning  eagerness  down,  and  an 
swered  with  all  the  indifference  he  could  assume: 

"I — well,  not  that  I  know  of,  but  we've  heard  of 
him."  The  editor  was  thankful,  and  resumed  his 
composure.  Sally  added:  "Is  he — is  he — well?" 

"Is  he  well?  Why,  bless  you  he's  in  Sheol  these 
five  years!" 

The  Fosters  were  trembling  with  grief,  though  it 
felt  like  joy.  Sally  said,  non-committally  —  and 
tentatively: 

"Ah,  well,  such  is  life,  and  none  can  escape — not 
even  the  rich  are  spared." 

The  editor  laughed. 

"If  you  are  including  Tilbury,"  said  he,  "it  don't 
apply.  He  hadn't  a  cent ;  the  town  had  to  bury  him." 

The  Fosters  sat  petrified  for  two  minutes ;  petrified 
and  cold.  Then,  white-faced  and  weak-voiced,  Sally 
asked : 

"Is  it  true?     Do  you  know  it  to  be  true?" 

"Well,  I  should  say!  I  was  one  of  the  executors. 
He  hadn't  anything  to  leave  but  a  wheelbarrow,  and 


48  The  $30,000  Bequest 

he  left  that  to  me.  It  hadn't  any  wheel,  and  wasn't 
any  good.  Still,  it  was  something,  and  so,  to  square 
up,  I  scribbled  off  a  sort  of  a  little  obituarial  send-off 
for  him,  but  it  got  crowded  out." 

The  Fosters  were  not  listening — their  cup  was  full, 
it  could  contain  no  more.  They  sat  with  bowed 
heads,  dead  to  all  things  but  the  ache  at  their  hearts. 

An  hour  later.  Still  they  sat  there,  bowed,  mo 
tionless,  silent,  the  visitor  long  ago  gone,  they  un 
aware. 

Then,  they  stirred,  and  lifted  their  heads  wearily, 
and  gazed  at  each  other  wistfully,  dreamily,  dazed; 
then  presently  began  to  twaddle  to  each  other  in  a 
wandering  and  childish  way.  At  intervals  they 
lapsed  into  silences,  leaving  a  sentence  unfinished, 
seemingly  either  unaware  of  it  or  losing  their  way. 
Sometimes,  when  they  woke  out  of  these  silences 
they  had  a  dim  and  transient  consciousness  that 
something  had  happened  to  their  minds ;  then  with  a 
dumb  and  yearning  solicitude  they  would  softly 
caress  each  other's  hands  in  mutual  compassion  and 
support,  as  if  they  would  say:  "I  am  near  you,  I  will 
not  forsake  you,  we  will  bear  it  together;  somewhere 
there  is  release  and  forgetfulness,  somewhere  there  is 
a  grave  and  peace;  be  patient,  it  will  not  be  long." 

They  lived  yet  two  years,  in  mental  night,  always 
brooding,  steeped  in  vague  regrets  and  melancholy 
dreams,  never  speaking;  then  release  came  to  both 
on  the  same  day. 


The  $30,000  Bequest  49 

Towards  the  end  the  darkness  lifted  from  Sally's 
ruined  mind  for  a  moment,  and  he  said: 

"Vast  wealth,  acquired  by  sudden  and  unwhole 
some  means,  is  a  snare.  It  did  us  no  good,  transient 
were  its  feverish  pleasures ;  yet  for  its  sake  we  threw 
away  our  sweet  and  simple  and  happy  life — let  others 
take  warning  by  us." 

He  lay  silent  awhile,  with  closed  eyes ;  then  as  the 
chill  of  death  crept  upward  towards  his  heart,  and 
consciousness  was  fading  from  his  brain,  he  muttered : 

"Money  had  brought  him  misery,  and  he  took  his 
revenge  upon  us,  who  had  done  him  no  harm.  He 
had  his  desire:  with  base  and  cunning  calculation  he 
left  us  but  thirty  thousand,  knowing  we  would  try 
to  increase  it,  and  ruin  our  life  and  break  our  hearts. 
Without  added  expense  he  could  have  left  us  far 
above  desire  of  increase,  far  above  the  temptation  to 
speculate,  and  a  kinder  soul  would  have  done  it;  but 
in  him  was  no  generous  spirit,  no  pity,  no — " 


A    DOG'S   TALE 


MY  father  was  a  St.  Bernard,  my  mother  was  a 
collie,  but  I  am  a  Presbyterian.  This  is  what 
my  mother  told  me;  I  do  not  know  these  nice  dis 
tinctions  myself.  To  me  they  are  only  fine  large 
words  meaning  nothing.  My  mother  had  a  fondness 
for  such;  she  liked  to  say  them,  and  see  other  dogs 
look  surprised  and  envious,  as  wondering  how  she 
got  so  much  education.  But,  indeed,  it  was  not  real 
education;  it  was  only  show:  she  got  the  words  by 
listening  in  the  dining-room  and  drawing-room  when 
there  was  company,  and  by  going  with  the  children 
to  Sunday-school  and  listening  there;  and  whenever 
she  heard  a  large  word  she  said  it  over  to  herself 
many  times,  and  so  was  able  to  keep  it  until  there 
was  a  dogmatic  gathering  in  the  neighborhood,  then 
she  would  get  it  off,  and  surprise  and  distress  them 
all,  from  pocket-pup  to  mastiff,  which  rewarded  her 
for  all  her  trouble.  If  there  was  a  stranger  he  was 
nearly  sure  to  be  suspicious,  and  when  he  got  his 
breath  again  he  would  ask  her  what  it  meant.  And 


A  Dog's  Tale  5* 

she  always  told  him.  He  was  never  expecting  this, 
but  thought  he  would  catch  her;  so  when  she  told 
him,  he  was  the  one  that  looked  ashamed,  whereas 
he  had  thought  it  was  going  to  be  she.  The  others 
were  always  waiting  for  this,  and  glad  of  it  and 
proud  of  her,  for  they  knew  what  was  going  to  hap 
pen,  because  they  had  had  experience.  When  she 
told  the  meaning  of  a  big  word  they  were  all  so  taken 
up  with  admiration  that  it  never  occurred  to  any 
dog  to  doubt  if  it  was  the  right  one;  and  that  was 
natural,  because,  for  one  thing,  she  answered  up  so 
promptly  that  it  seemed  like  a  dictionary  speaking, 
and  for  another  thing,  where  could  they  find  out 
whether  it  was  right  or  not?  for  she  was  the  only 
cultivated  dog  there  was.  By-and-by,  when  I  was 
older,  she  brought  home  the  word  Unintellectual, 
one  time,  and  worked  it  pretty  hard  all  the  week  at 
different  gatherings,  making  much  unhappiness  and 
despondency;  and  it  was  at  this  time  that  I  noticed 
that  during  that  week  she  was  asked  for  the  meaning 
at  eight  different  assemblages,  and  flashed  out  a 
fresh  definition  every  time,  which  showed  me  that 
she  had  more  presence  of  mind  than  culture,  though 
I  said  nothing,  of  course.  She  had  one  word  which 
she  always  kept  on  hand,  and  ready,  like  a  life-pre 
server,  a  kind  of  emergency  word  to  strap  on  when  she 
was  likely  to  get  washed  overboard  in  a  sudden  way 
— that  was  the  word  Synonymous.  When  she  hap 
pened  to  fetch  out  a  long  word  which  had  had  its  day 
weeks  before  and  its  prepared  meanings  gone  to  her 


52  The  $30,000  Bequest 

dump-pile,  if  there  was  a  stranger  there  of  course  it 
knocked  him  groggy  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  then 
he  would  come  to,  and  by  that  time  she  would  be 
away  down  the  wind  on  another  tack,  and  not  ex 
pecting  anything;  so  when  he'd  hail  and  ask  her  to 
cash  in,  I  (the  only  dog  on  the  inside  of  her  game) 
could  see  her  canvas  flicker  a  moment — but  only  just 
a  moment — then  it  would  belly  out  taut  and  full, 
and  she  would  say,  as  calm  as  a  summer's  day,  "It's 
synonymous  with  supererogation,"  or  some  godless 
long  reptile  of  a  word  like  that,  and  go  placidly  about 
and  skim  away  on  the  next  tack,  perfectly  com 
fortable,  you  know,  and  leave  that  stranger  looking 
profane  and  embarrassed,  and  the  initiated  slatting 
the  floor  with  their  tails  in  unison  and  their  faces 
transfigured  with  a  holy  joy. 

And  it  was  the  same  with  phrases.  She  would 
drag  home  a  whole  phrase,  if  it  had  a  grand  sound, 
and  play  it  six  nights  and  two  matinees,  and  explain 
it  a  new  way  every  time — which  she  had  to,  for  all 
she  cared  for  was  the  phrase;  she  wasn't  interested 
in  what  it  meant,  and  knew  those  dogs  hadn't  wit 
enough  to  catch  her,  anyway.  Yes,  she  was  a  daisy! 
She  got  so  she  wasn't  afraid  of  anything,  she  had 
such  confidence  in  the  ignorance  of  those  creatures. 
She  even  brought  anecdotes  that  she  had  heard  the 
family  and  the  dinner  guests  laugh  and  shout  over; 
and  as  a  rule  she  got  the  nub  of  one  chestnut  hitched 
onto  another  chestnut,  where,  of  course,  it  didn't  fit 
and  hadn't  any  point;  and  when  she  delivered  the 


A  Dog's  Tale  53 

nub  she  fell  over  and  rolled  on  the  floor  and  laughed 
and  barked  in  the  most  insane  way,  while  I  could 
see  that  she  was  wondering  to  herself  why  it  didn't 
seem  as  funny  as  it  did  when  she  first  heard  it.  But 
no  harm  was  done;  the  others  rolled  and  barked  too, 
privately  ashamed  of  themselves  for  not  seeing  the 
point,  and  never  suspecting  that  the  fault  was  not 
with  them  and  there  wasn't  any  to  see. 

You  can  see  by  these  things  that  she  was  of  a 
rather  vain  and  frivolous  character;  still,  she  had 
virtues,  and  enough  to  make  up,  I  think.  She  had 
a  kind  heart  and  gentle  ways,  and  never  harbored 
resentments  for  injuries  done  her,  but  put  them 
easily  out  of-  her  mind  and  forgot  them;  and  she 
taught  her  children  her  kindly  way,  and  from  her  we 
learned  also  to  be  brave  and  prompt  in  time  of 
danger,  and  not  to  run  away,  but  face  the  peril  that 
threatened  friend  or  stranger,  and  help  him  the  best 
we  could  without  stopping  to  think  what  the  cost 
might  be  to  us.  And  she  taught  us  not  by  words 
only,  but  by  example,  and  that  is  the  best  way  and 
the  surest  and  the  most  lasting.  Why,  the  brave 
things  she  did,  the  splendid  things!  she  was  just  a 
soldier;  and  so  modest  about  it — well,  you  couldn't 
help  admiring  her,  and  you  couldn't  help  imitating 
her;  not  even  a  King  Charles  spaniel  could  remain 
entirely  despicable  in  her  society.  So,  as  you  see, 
there  was  more  to  her  than  her  education. 


II 

WHEN  I  was  well  grown,  at  last,  I  was  sold  and 
taken  away,  and  I  never  saw  her  again.  She  was 
broken-hearted,  and  so  was  I,  and  we  cried;  but  she 
comforted  me  as  well  as  she  could,  and  said  we  were 
sent  into  this  world  for  a  wise  and  good  purpose,  and 
must  do  our  duties  without  repining,  take  our  life  as 
we  might  find  it,  live  it  for  the  best  good  of  others, 
and  never  mind  about  the  results ;  they  were  not  our 
affair.  She  said  men  who  did  like  this  would  have 
a  noble  and  beautiful  reward  by-and-by  in  another 
world,  and  although  we  animals  would  not  go  there, 
to  do  well  and  right  without  reward  would  give  to 
our  brief  lives  a  worthiness  and  dignity  which  in  it 
self  would  be  a  reward.  She  had  gathered  these 
things  from  time  to  time  when  she  had  gone  to  the 
Sunday-school  with  the  children,  and  had  laid  them 
up  in  her  memory  more  carefully  than  she  had  done 
with  those  other  words  and  phrases;  and  she  had 
studied  them  deeply,  for  her  good  and  ours.  One 
may  see  by  this  that  she  had  a  wise  and  thoughtful 
head,  for  all  there  was  so  much  lightness  and  vanity 
in  it. 

So  we  said  our  farewells,  and  looked  our  last  upon 
each  other  through  our  tears;  and  the  last  thing  she 


A  Dog's  Tale  55 

said — keeping  it  for  the  last  to  make  me  remember 
it  the  better,  I  think  —  was,  "In  memory  of  me, 
when  there  is  a  time  of  danger  to  another  do  not 
think  of  yourself,  think  of  your  mother,  and  do  as 
she  would  do." 

Do  you  think  I  could  forget  that  ?     No. 


Ill 

IT  was  such  a  charming  home! — my  new  one;  a 
fine  great  house,  with  pictures,  and  delicate  decora 
tions,  and  rich  furniture,  and  no  gloom  anywhere, 
but  all  the  wilderness  of  dainty  colors  lit  up  with 
flooding  sunshine;  and  the  spacious  grounds  around 
it,  and  the  great  garden — oh,  greensward,  and  noble 
trees,  and  flowers,  no  end!  And  I  was  the  same  as  a 
member  of  the  family ;  and  they  loved  me,  and  petted 
me,  and  did  not  give  me  a  new  name,  but  called  me 
by  my  old  one  that  was  dear  to  me  because  my 
mother  had  given  it  me — Aileen  Mavourneen.  She 
got  it  out  of  a  song;  and  the  Grays  knew  that  song, 
and  said  it  was  a  beautiful  name. 

Mrs.  Gray  was  thirty,  and  so  sweet  and  so  lovely, 
you  cannot  imagine  it;  and  Sadie  was  ten,  and  just 
like  her  mother,  just  a  darling  slender  little  copy  of 
her,  with  auburn  tails  down  her  back,  and  short 
frocks;  and  the  baby  was  a  year  old,  and  plump  and 
dimpled,  and  fond  of  me,  and  never  could  get  enough 
of  hauling  on  my  tail,  and  hugging  me,  and  laughing 
out  its  innocent  happiness ;  and  Mr.  Gray  was  thirty- 
eight,  and  tall  and  slender  and  handsome,  a  little 
bald  in  front,  alert,  quick  in  his  movements,  business- 


A  Dog's  Tale  57 

like,  prompt,  decided,  unsentimental,  and  with  that 
kind  of  trim-chiselled  face  that  just  seems  to  glint 
and  sparkle  with  frosty  intellectuality!  He  was  a 
renowned  scientist.  I  do  not  know  what  the  word 
means,  but  my  mother  would  know  how  to  use  it 
and  get  effects.  She  would  know  how  to  depress  a 
rat-terrier  with  it  and  make  a  lap-dog  look  sorry  he 
came.  But  that  is  not  the  best  one;  the  best  one 
was  Laboratory.  My  mother  could  organize  a 
Trust  on  that  one  that  would  skin  the  tax-collars  off 
the  whole  herd.  The  laboratory  was  not  a  book,  or 
a  picture,  or  a  place  to  wash  your  hands  in,  as  the 
college  president's  dog  said — no,  that  is  the  lavatory; 
the  laboratory  is  quite  different,  and  is  filled  with 
jars,  and  bottles,  and  electrics,  and  wires,  and 
strange  machines;  and  every  week  other  scientists 
came  there  and  sat  in  the  place,  and  used  the  ma 
chines,  and  discussed,  and  made  what  they  called 
experiments  and  discoveries;  and  often  I  came,  too, 
and  stood  around  and  listened,  and  tried  to  learn, 
for  the  sake  of  my  mother,  and  in  loving  memory  of 
her,  although  it  was  a  pain  to  me,  as  realizing  what 
she  was  losing  out  of  her  life  and  I  gaining  nothing 
at  all;  for  try  as  I  might,  I  was  never  able  to  make 
anything  out  of  it  at  all. 

Other  times  I  lay  on  the  floor  in  the  mistress's 
work-room  and  slept,  she  gently  using  me  for  a  foot 
stool,  knowing  it  pleased  me,  for  it  was  a  caress; 
other  times  I  spent  an  hour  in  the  nursery,  and  got 
well  tousled  and  made  happy ;  other  times  I  watched 


58  The  $30,000  Bequest 

by  the  crib  there,  when  the  baby  was  asleep  and  the 
nurse  out  for  a  few  minutes,  on  the  baby's  affairs; 
other  times  I  romped  and  raced  through  the  grounds 
and  the  garden  with  Sadie  till  we  were  tired  out, 
then  slumbered  on  the  grass  in  the  shade  of  a  tree 
while  she  read  her  book;  other  times  I  went  visiting 
among  the  neighbor  dogs — for  there  were  some  most 
pleasant  ones  not  far  away,  and  one  very  handsome 
and  courteous  and  graceful  one,  a  curly-haired  Irish 
setter  by  the  name  of  Robin  Adair,  who  was  a 
Presbyterian  like  me,  and  belonged  to  the  Scotch 
minister. 

The  servants  in  our  house  were  all  kind  to  me  and 
were  fond  of  me,  and  so,  as  you  see,  mine  was  a 
pleasant  life.  There  could  not  be  a  happier  dog 
than  I  was,  nor  a  gratefuler  one.  I  will  say  this  for 
myself,  for  it  is  only  the  truth:  I  tried  in  all  ways  to 
do  well  and  right,  and  honor  my  mother's  memory 
and  her  teachings,  and  earn  the  happiness  that  had 
come  to  me,  as  best  I  could. 

By-and-by  came  my  little  puppy,  and  then  my 
cup  was  full,  my  happiness  was  perfect.  It  was  the 
dearest  little  waddling  thing,  and  so  smooth  and  soft 
and  velvety,  and  had  such  cunning  little  awkward 
paws,  and  such  affectionate  eyes,  and  such  a  sweet 
and  innocent  face;  and  it  made  me  so  proud  to  see 
how  the  children  and  their  mother  adored  it,  and 
fondled  it,  and  exclaimed  over  every  little  wonderful 
thing  it  did.  It  did  seem  to  me  that  life  was  just 
too  lovely  to — 


A  Dog's  Tale  59 

Then  came  the  winter.  One  day  I  was  standing  a 
watch  in  the  nursery.  That  is  to  say,  I  was  asleep 
on  the  bed.  The  baby  was  asleep  in  the  crib,  which 
was  alongside  the  bed,  on  the  side  next  the  fireplace. 
It  was  the  kind  of  crib  that  has  a  lofty  tent  over  it 
made  of  a  gauzy  stuff  that  you  can  see  through. 
The  nurse  was  out,  and  we  two  sleepers  were  alone. 
A  spark  from  the  wood-fire  was  shot  out,  and  it  lit 
on  the  slope  of  the  tent.  I  suppose  a  quiet  interval 
followed,  then  a  scream  from  the  baby  woke  me,  and 
there  was  that  tent  flaming  up  towards  the  ceiling! 
Before  I  could  think,  I  sprang  to  the  floor  in  my 
fright,  and  in  a  second  was  half-way  to  the  door;  but 
in  the  next  half -second  my  mother's  farewell  was 
sounding  in  my  ears,  and  I  was  back  on  the  bed 
again.  I  reached  my  head  through  the  flames  and 
dragged  the  baby  out  by  the  waistband,  and  tugged 
it  along,  and  we  fell  to  the  floor  together  in  a  cloud 
of  smoke;  I  snatched  a  new  hold,  and  dragged  the 
screaming  little  creature  along  and  out  at  the  door 
and  around  the  bend  of  the  hall,  and  was  still  tug 
ging  away,  all  excited  and  happy  and  proud,  when 
the  master's  voice  shouted: 

"Begone,  you  cursed  beast!"  and  I  jumped  to 
save  myself;  but  he  was  wonderfully  quick,  and 
chased  me  up,  striking  furiously  at  me  with  his  cane, 
I  dodging  this  way  and  that,  in  terror,  and  at  last  a 
strong  blow  fell  upon  my  left  foreleg,  which  made 
me  shriek  and  fall,  for  the  moment,  helpless;  the 
cane  went  up  for  another  blow,  but  never  descended. 


60  The  $30,000  Bequest 

for  the  nurse's  voice  rang  wildly  out,  "The  nursery's 
on  fire!"  and  the  master  rushed  away  in  that  direc 
tion,  and  my  other  bones  were  saved. 

The  pain  was  cruel,  but,  no  matter,  I  must  not 
lose  any  time;  he  might  come  back  at  any  moment; 
so  I  limped  on  three  legs  to  the  other  end  of  the  hall, 
where  there  was  a  dark  little  stairway  leading  up 
into  a  garret  where  old  boxes  and  such  things  were 
kept,  as  I  had  heard  say,  and  where  people  seldom 
went.  I  managed  to  climb  up  there,  then  I  searched 
my  way  through  the  dark  among  the  piles  of  things, 
and  hid  in  the  secretest  place  I  could  find.  It  was 
foolish  to  be  afraid  there,  yet  still  I  was;  so  afraid 
that  I  held  in  and  hardly  even  whimpered,  though  it 
would  have  been  such  a  comfort  to  whimper,  because 
that  eases  the  pain,  you  know.  But  I  could  lick  my 
leg,  and  that  did  me  some  good. 

For  half  an  hour  there  was  a  commotion  down 
stairs,  and  shoutings,  and  rushing  footsteps,  and 
then  there  was  quiet  again.  Quiet  for  some  minutes, 
and  that  was  grateful  to  my  spirit,  for  then  my  fears 
began  to  go  down;  and  fears  are  worse  than  pains — 
oh,  much  worse.  Then  came  a  sound  that  froze  me. 
They  were  calling  me — calling  me  by  name — hunting 
for  me! 

It  was  muffled  by  distance,  but  that  could  not 
take  the  terror  out  of  it,  and  it  was  the  most  dreadful 
sound  to  me  that  I  had  ever  heard.  It  went  all 
about,  everywhere,  down  there:  along  the  halls, 
through  all  the  rooms,  in  both  stories,  and  in  the 


A  Dog's  Tale  61 

basement  and  the  cellar;  then  outside,  and  farther 
and  farther  away  —  then  back,  and  all  about  the 
house  again,  and  I  thought  it  would  never,  never 
stop.  But  at  last  it  did,  hours  and  hours  after  the 
vague  twilight  of  the  garret  had  long  ago  been 
blotted  out  by  black  darkness. 

Then  in  that  blessed  stillness  my  terrors  fell  little 
by  little  away,  and  I  was  at  peace  and  slept.  It  was 
a  good  rest  I  had,  but  I  woke  before  the  twilight  had 
come  again.  I  was  feeling  fairly  comfortable,  and  I 
could  think  out  a  plan  now.  I  made  a  very  good 
one;  which  was,  to  creep  down,  all  the  way  down 
the  back  stairs,  and  hide  behind  the  cellar  door,  and 
slip  out  and  escape  when  the  iceman  came  at  dawn, 
while  he  was  inside  filling  the  refrigerator;  then  I 
would  hide  all  day,  and  start  on  my  journey  when 
night  came;  my  journey  to — well,  anywhere  where 
they  would  not  know  me  and  betray  me  to  the 
master.  I  was  feeling  almost  cheerful  now;  then 
suddenly  I  thought:  Why,  what  would  life  be  with 
out  my  puppy! 

That  was  despair.  There  was  no  plan  for  me;  I 
saw  that;  I  must  stay  where  I  was;  stay,  and  wait, 
and  take  what  might  come — it  was  not  my  affair; 
that  was  what  life  is — my  mother  had  said  it.  Then 
— well,  then  the  calling  began  again!  All  my  sor 
rows  came  back.  I  said  to  myself,  the  master  will 
never  forgive.  I  did  not  know  what  I  had  done 
to  make  him  so  bitter  and  so  unforgiving,  yet  I 
judged  it  was  something  a  dog  could  not  under- 


62  The  $30,000  Bequest 

stand,  but  which  was  clear  to  a  man  and  dread 
ful. 

They  called  and  called — days  and  nights,  it  seemed 
to  me.  So  long  that  the  hunger  and  thirst  near 
drove  me  mad,  and  I  recognized  that  I  was  getting 
very  weak.  When  you  are  this  way  you  sleep  a 
great  deal,  and  I  did.  Once  I  woke  in  an  awful 
fright — it  seemed  to  me  that  the  calling  was  right 
there  in  the  garret!  And  so  it  was:  it  was  Sadie's 
voice,  and  she  was  crying ;  my  name  was  falling  from 
her  lips  all  broken,  poor  thing,  and  I  could  not  be 
lieve  my  ears  for  the  joy  of  it  when  I  heard  her  say: 

"Come  back  to  us — oh,  come  back  to  us,  and  for 
give — it  is  all  so  sad  without  our — 

I  broke  in  with  such  a  grateful  little  yelp,  and  the 
next  moment  Sadie  was  plunging  and  stumbling 
through  the  darkness  and  the  lumber  and  shouting 
for  the  family  to  hear,  "She's  found,  she's  found!" 

The  days  that  followed — well,  they  were  wonder 
ful.  The  mother  and  Sadie  and  the  servants — why, 
they  just  seemed  to  worship  me.  They  couldn't 
seem  to  make  me  a  bed  that  was  fine  enough ;  and 
as  for  food,  they  couldn't  be  satisfied  with  anything 
but  game  and  delicacies  that  were  out  of  season ;  and 
every  day  the  friends  and  neighbors  flocked  in  to 
hear  about  my  heroism — that  was  the  name  they 
called  it  by,  and  it  means  agriculture.  I  remember 
my  mother  pulling  it  on  a  kennel  once,  and  explain 
ing  it  that  way,  but  didn't  say  what  agriculture  was, 


A  Dog's  Tale  63 

except  that  it  was  synonymous  with  intramural  in 
candescence;  and  a  dozen  times  a  day  Mrs.  Gray  and 
Sadie  would  tell  the  tale  to  new-comers,  and  say  I 
risked  my  life  to  save  the  baby's,  and  both  of  us  had 
burns  to  prove  it,  and  then  the  company  would  pass 
me  around  and  pet  me  and  exclaim  about  me,  and 
you  could  see  the  pride  in  the  eyes  of  Sadie  and  her 
mother;  and  when  the  people  wanted  to  "know  what 
made  me  limp,  they  looked  ashamed  and  changed 
the  subject,  and  sometimes  when  people  hunted 
them  this  way  and  that  way  with  questions  about  it, 
it  looked  to  me  as  if  they  were  going  to  cry. 

And  this  was  not  all  the  glory;  no,  the  master's 
friends  came,  a  whole  twenty  of  the  most  distin 
guished  people,  and  had  me  in  the  laboratory,  and 
discussed  me  as  if  I  was  a  kind  of  discovery;  and 
some  of  them  said  it  was  wonderful  in  a  dumb  beast, 
the  finest  exhibition  of  instinct  they  could  call  to 
mind;  but  the  master  said,  with  vehemence,  "It's 
far  above  instinct;  it's  reason,  and  many  a  man, 
privileged  to  be  saved  and  go  with  you  and  me  to  a 
better  world  by  right  of  its  possession,  has  less  of  it 
than  this  poor  silly  quadruped  that's  foreordained  to 
perish;"  and  then  he  laughed,  and  said:  "Why,  look 
at  me — I'm  a  sarcasm!  bless  you,  with  all  my  grand 
intelligence,  the  only  thing  I  inferred  was  that  the 
dog  had  gone  mad  and  was  destroying  the  child, 
whereas  but  for  the  beast's  intelligence — it's  reason, 
I  tell  you! — the  child  would  have  perished!" 

They  disputed  and  disputed,  and  /  was  the  very 


64  The  $30,000  Bequest 

centre  and  subject  of  it  all,  and  I  wished  my  mother 
could  know  that  this  grand  honor  had  come  to  me; 
it  would  have  made  her  proud. 

Then  they  discussed  optics,  as  they  called  it,  and 
whether  a  certain  injury  to  the  brain  would  produce 
blindness  or  not,  but  they  could  not  agree  about  it, 
and  said  they  must  test  it  by  experiment  by-and-by ; 
and  next  they  discussed  plants,  and  that  interested 
me,  because  in  the  summer  Sadie  and  I  had  planted 
seeds — I  helped  her  dig  the  holes,  you  know — and 
after  days  and  days  a  little  shrub  or  a  flower  came  up 
there,  and  it  was  a  wonder  how  that  could  happen; 
but  it  did,  and  I  wished  I  could  talk — I  would  have 
told  those  people  about  it  and  shown  them  how 
much  I  knew,  and  been  all  alive  with  the  subject; 
but  I  didn't  care  for  the  optics;  it  was  dull,  and 
when  they  came  back  to  it  again  it  bored  me,  and  I 
went  to  sleep. 

Pretty  soon  it  was  spring,  and  sunny  and  pleasant 
and  lovely,  and  the  sweet  mother  and  the  children 
patted  me  and  the  puppy  good-bye,  and  went  away 
on  a  journey  and  a  visit  to  their  kin,  and  the  master 
wasn't  any  company  for  us,  but  we  played  together 
and  had  good  times,  and  the  servants  were  kind  and 
friendly,  so  we  got  along  quite  happily  and  counted 
the  days  and  waited  for  the  family. 

And  one  day  those  men  came  again,  and  said,  now 
for  the  test,  and  they  took  the  puppy  to  the  labora 
tory,  and  I  limped  three-leggedly  along,  too,  feeling 
proud,  for  any  attention  shown  the  puppy  was  a 


A  Dog's  Tale  65 

pleasure  to  me,  of  course.  They  discussed  and  ex 
perimented,  and  then  suddenly  the  puppy  shrieked, 
and  they  set  him  on  the  floor,  and  he  went  stagger 
ing  around,  with  his  head  all  bloody,  and  the  master 
clapped  his  hands  and  shouted: 

"There,  I've  won — confess  it!  He's  as  blind  as  a 
bat!" 

And  they  all  said: 

"It's  so — you've  proved  your  theory,  and  suffer 
ing  humanity  owes  you  a  great  debt  from  hence 
forth,"  and  they  crowded  around  him,  and  wrung 
his  hand  cordially  and  thankfully,  and  praised 
him. 

But  I  hardly  saw  or  heard  these  things,  for  I  ran 
at  once  to  my  little  darling,  and  snuggled  close  to  it 
where  it  lay,  and  licked  the  blood,  and  it  put  its 
head  against  mine,  whimpering  softly,  and  I  knew 
in  my  heart  it  was  a  comfort  to  it  in  its  pain  and 
trouble  to  feel  its  mother's  touch,  though  it  could  not 
see  me.  Then  it  dropped  down,  presently,  and  its 
little  velvet  nose  rested  upon  the  floor,  and  it  was 
still,  and  did  not  move  any  more. 

Soon  the  master  stopped  discussing  a  moment,  and 
rang  in  the  footman,  and  said,  "Bury  it  in  the  far 
corner  of  the  garden,"  and  then  went  on  with  the 
discussion,  and  I  trotted  after  the  footman,  very 
happy  and  grateful,  for  I  knew  the  puppy  was  out 
of  its  pain  now,  because  it  was  asleep.  We  went  far 
down  the  garden  to  the  farthest  end,  where  the 
children  and  the  nurse  and  the  puppy  and  I  used  to 


66  The  $30,000  Bequest 

play  in  the  summer  in  the  shade  of  a  great  elm,  and 
there  the  footman  dug  a  hole,  and  I  saw  he  was  go 
ing  to  plant  the  puppy,  and  I  was  glad,  because  it 
would  grow  and  come  up  a  fine  handsome  dog,  like 
Robin  Adair,  and  be  a  beautiful  surprise  for  the 
family  when  they  came  home;  so  I  tried  to  help  him 
dig,  but  my  lame  leg  was  no  good,  being  stiff,  you 
know,  and  you  have  to  have  two,  or  it  is  no  use. 
When  the  footman  had  finished  and  covered  little 
Robin  up,  he  patted  my  head,  and  there  were  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  he  said:  "Poor  little  doggie,  you 
SAVED  his  child." 

I  have  watched  two  whole  weeks,  and  he  doesn't 
come  up!  This  last  week  a  fright  has  been  stealing 
upon  me.  I  think  there  is  something  terrible  about 
this.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,  but  the  fear  makes 
me  sick,  and  I  cannot  eat,  though  the  servants 
bring  me  the  best  of  food;  and  they  pet  me  so,  and 
even  come  in  the  night,  and  cry,  and  say,  "Poor 
doggie — do  give  it  up  and  come  home;  don't  break 
our  hearts!"  and  all  this  terrifies  me  the  more,  and 
makes  me  sure  something  has  happened.  And  I  am 
so  weak;  since  yesterday  I  cannot  stand  on  my  feet 
any  more.  And  within  this  hour  the  servants,  look 
ing  towards  the  sun  where  it  was  sinking  out  of  sight 
and  the  night  chill  coming  on,  said  things  I  could  not 
understand,  but  they  carried  something  cold  to  my 
heart. 

"Those  poor  creatures!  They  do  not  suspect. 
They  will  come  home  in  the  morning,  and  eagerly 


"  POOR    LITTLE    DOGGIE,   YOU    SAVED    HIS    CHILD 


A  Dog's  Tale  67 

ask  for  the  little  doggie  that  did  the  brave  deed,  and 
who  of  us  will  be  strong  enough  to  say  the  truth  to 
them:  'The  humble  little  friend  is  gone  where  go  the 
beasts  that  perish.'" 


WAS    IT   HEAVEN?   OR   HELL? 


YOU  told  a  lie?" 
"You  confess  it  —  you  actually  confess  it- 
you  told  a  lie!" 


II 


THE  family  consisted  of  four  persons:  Margaret 
Lester,  widow,  aged  thirty-six;  Helen  Lester,  her 
daughter,  aged  sixteen;  Mrs.  Lester's  maiden  aunts, 
Hannah  and  Hester  Gray,  twins,  aged  sixty-seven. 
Waking  and  sleeping,  the  three  women  spent  their 
days  and  nights  in  adoring  the  young  girl ;  in  watch 
ing  the  movements  of  her  sweet  spirit  in  the  mirror 
of  her  face;  in  refreshing  their  souls  with  the  vision 
of  her  bloom  and  beauty ;  in  listening  to  the  music  of 
her  voice ;  in  gratefully  recognizing  how  rich  and  fair 
for  them  was  the  world  with  this  presence  in  it;  in 
shuddering  to  think  how  desolate  it  would  be  with 
this  light  gone  out  of  it. 

By  nature — and  inside — the  aged  aunts  were  utterly 
dear  and  lovable  and  good,  but  in  the  matter  of  morals 
and  conduct  their  training  had  been  so  uncompromis 
ingly  strict  that  it  had  made  them  exteriorly  austere, 
not  to  say  stern.  Their  influence  was  effective  in  the 
house ;  so  effective  that  the  mother  and  the  daughter 
conformed  to  its  moral  and  religious  requirements 
cheerfully,  contentedly,  happily,  unquestionably.  To 
do  this  was  become  second  nature  to  them.  And  so 
in  this  peaceful  heaven  there  were  no  clashings,  no 
irritations,  no  fault-findings,  no  heart-burnings. 


70  The  $30,000  Bequest 

In  it  a  lie  had  no  place.  In  it  a  lie  was  unthink 
able.  In  it  speech  was  restricted  to  absolute  truth, 
iron-bound  truth,  implacable  and  uncompromising 
truth,  let  the  resulting  consequences  be  what  they 
might.  At  last,  one  day,  under  stress  of  circum 
stances,  the  darling  of  the  house  sullied  her  lips  with 
a  lie — and  confessed  it,  with  tears  and  self-upbraid- 
ings.  There  are  not  any  words  that  can  paint  the 
consternation  of  the  aunts.  It  was  as  if  the  sky  had 
crumpled  up  and  collapsed  and  the  earth  had  tum 
bled  to  ruin  with  a  crash.  They  sat  side  by  side, 
white  and  stern,  gazing  speechless  upon  the  culprit, 
who  was  on  her  knees  before  them  with  her  face 
buried  first  in  one  lap  and  then  the  other,  moaning 
and  sobbing,  and  appealing  for  sympathy  and  for 
giveness  and  getting  no  response,  humbly  kissing  the 
hand  of  the  one,  then  of  the  other,  only  to  see  it  with 
drawn  as  suffering  defilement  by  those  soiled  lips. 

Twice,  at  intervals,  Aunt  Hester  said,  in  frozen 
amazement: 

"  You  told  a  lie?" 

Twice,  at  intervals,  Aunt  Hannah  followed  with  the 
muttered  and  amazed  ejaculation: 

"You  confess  it — you  actually  confess  it — you  told 
a  lie!" 

It  was  all  they  could  say.  The  situation  was  new, 
unheard-of,  incredible;  they  could  not  understand  it, 
they  did  not  know  how  to  take  hold  of  it,  it  approxi 
mately  paralyzed  speech. 

At  length  it  was  decided  that  the  erring  child  must 


Was  it  Heaven?  or  Hell?  71 

be  taken  to  her  mother,  who  was  ill,  and  who  ought 
to  know  what  had  happened.  Helen  begged,  be 
sought,  implored  that  she  might  be  spared  this  fur 
ther  disgrace,  and  that  her  mother  might  be  spared 
the  grief  and  pain  of  it ;  but  this  could  not  be :  duty 
required  this  sacrifice,  duty  takes  precedence  of  all 
things,  nothing  can  absolve  one  from  a  duty,  with  a 
duty  no  compromise  is  possible. 

Helen  still  begged,  and  said  the  sin  was  her  own, 
her  mother  had  had  no  hand  in  it — why  must  she  be 
made  to  suffer  for  it  ? 

But  the  aunts  were  obdurate  in  their  righteousness, 
and  said  the  law  that  visited  the  sins  of  the  parent 
upon  the  child  was  by  all  right  and  reason  reversible ; 
and  therefore  it  was  but  just  that  the  innocent  mother 
of  a  sinning  child  should  suffer  her  rightful  share  of 
the  grief  and  pain  and  shame  which  were  the  allotted 
wages  of  the  sin. 

The  three  moved  towards  the  sick-room. 

At  this  time  the  doctor  was  approaching  the  house. 
He  was  still  a  good  distance  away,  however.  He  was 
a  good  doctor  and  a  good  man,  and  he  had  a  good 
heart,  but  one  had  to  know  him  a  year  to  get  over 
hating  him,  two  years  to  learn  to  endure  him,  three 
to  learn  to  like  him,  and  four  or  five  to  learn  to  love 
him.  It  was  a  slow  and  trying  education,  but  it  paid. 
He  was  of  great  stature;  he  had  a  leonine  head,  a 
leonine  face,  a  rough  voice,  and  an  eye  which  was 
sometimes  a  pirate's  and  sometimes  a  woman's,  ac- 


72  The  $30,000  Bequest 

cording  to  the  mood.  He  knew  nothing  about  eti 
quette,  and  cared  nothing  about  it;  in  speech,  man 
ner,  carriage,  and  conduct  he  was  the  reverse  of 
conventional.  He  was  frank,  to  the  limit;  he  had 
opinions  on  all  subjects;  they  were  always  on  tap 
and  ready  for  delivery,  and  he  cared  not  a  farthing 
whether  his  listener  liked  them  or  didn't.  Whom  he 
loved  he  loved,  and  manifested  it;  whom  he  didn't 
love  he  hated,  and  published  it  from  the  house-tops. 
In  his  young  days  he  had  been  a  sailor,  and  the  salt 
airs  of  all  the  seas  blew  from  him  yet.  He  was  a 
sturdy  and  loyal  Christian,  and  believed  he  was  the 
best  one  in  the  land,  and  the  only  one  whose  Chris 
tianity  was  perfectly  sound,  healthy,  full -charged 
with  common-sense,  and  had  no  decayed  places  in  it. 
People  who  had  an  axe  to  grind,  or  people  who  for 
any  reason  wanted  to  get  on  the  soft  side  of  him, 
called  him  The  Christian — a  phrase  whose  delicate 
flattery  was  music  to  his  ears,  and  whose  capital  T 
was  such  an  enchanting  and  vivid  object  to  him  that 
he  could  see  it  when  it  fell  out  of  a  person's  mouth 
even  in  the  dark.  Many  who  were  fond  of  him  stood 
on  their  consciences  with  both  feet  and  brazenly 
called  him  by  that  large  title  habitually,  because  it 
was  a  pleasure  to  them  to  do  anything  that  would 
please  him;  and  with  eager  and  cordial  malice  his 
extensive  and  diligently  cultivated  crop  of  enemies 
gilded  it,  beflowered  it,  expanded  it  to  "The  Only 
Christian."  Of  these  two  titles,  the  latter  had  the 
wider  currency;  the  enemy,  being  greatly  in  the 


Was  it  Heaven  ?  or  Hell  ?  73 

majority,  attended  to  that.  Whatever  the  doctor 
believed,  he  believed  with  all  his  heart,  and  would 
fight  for  it  whenever  he  got  the  chance ;  and  if  the 
intervals  between  chances  grew  to  be  irksomely  wide, 
he  would  invent  ways  of  shortening  them  himself. 
He  was  severely  conscientious,  according  to  his  rather 
independent  lights,  and  whatever  he  took  to  be  a 
duty  he  performed,  no  matter  whether  the  judgment 
of  the  professional  moralists  agreed  with  his  own  or 
not.  At  sea,  in  his  young  days,  he  had  used  profanity 
freely,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  converted  he  made  a  rule, 
which  he  rigidly  stuck  to  ever  afterwards,  never  to 
use  it  except  on  the  rarest  occasions,  and  then  only 
when  duty  commanded.  He  had  been  a  hard  drinker 
at  sea,  but  after  his  conversion  he  became  a  firm  and 
outspoken  teetotaler,  in  order  to  be  an  example  to 
the  young,  and  from  that  time  forth  he  seldom  drank; 
never,  indeed,  except  when  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  a 
duty — a  condition  which  sometimes  occurred  a  couple 
of  times  a  year,  but  never  as  many  as  five  times. 

Necessarily,  such  a  man  is  impressionable,  impul 
sive,  emotional.  This  one  was,  and  had  no  gift  at 
hiding  his  feelings ;  or  if  he  had  it  he  took  no  trouble 
to  exercise  it.  He  carried  his  soul's  prevailing 
weather  in  his  face,  and  when  he  entered  a  room  the 
parasols  or  the  umbrellas  went  up — figuratively  speak 
ing — according  to  the  indications.  When  the  soft 
light  was  in  his  eye  it  meant  approval,  and  delivered 
a  benediction ;  when  he  came  with  a  frown  he  lowered 
the  temperature  ten  degrees.  He  was  a  well-beloved 

6 


74  The  $30,000  Bequest 

man  in  the  house  of  his  friends,  but  sometimes  a 
dreaded  one. 

He  had  a  deep  affection  for  the  Lester  household, 
and  its  several  members  returned  this  feeling  with 
interest.  They  mourned  over  his  kind  of  Christianity, 
and  he  frankly  scoffed  at  theirs ;  but  both  parties  went 
on  loving  each  other  just  the  same. 

He  was  approaching  the  house — out  of  the  distance ; 
the  aunts  and  the  culprit  were  moving  towards  the 
sick-chamber. 


Ill 

THE  three  last  named  stood  by  the  bed;  the  aunts 
austere,  the  transgressor  softly  sobbing.  The  mother 
turned  her  head  on  the  pillow ;  her  tired  eyes  flamed 
up  instantly  with  sympathy  and  passionate  mother- 
love  when  they  fell  upon  her  child,  and  she  opened 
the  refuge  and  shelter  of  her  arms. 

"Wait!"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  and  put  out  her  hand 
and  stayed  the  girl  from  leaping  into  them. 

"Helen,"  said  the  other  aunt,  impressively,  "tell 
your  mother  all.  Purge  your  soul;  leave  nothing  un- 
confessed." 

Standing  stricken  and  forlorn  before  her  judges, 
the  young  girl  mourned  her  sorrowful  tale  through 
to  the  end,  then  in  a  passion  of  appeal  cried  out: 

"  Oh,  mother,  can't  you  forgive  me  ?  won't  you  for 
give  me? — I  am  so  desolate!" 

"  Forgive  you,  my  darling  ?  Oh,  come  to  my  arms! 
—there,  lay  your  head  upon  my  breast,  and  be  at 
peace.  If  you  had  told  a  thousand  lies — 

There  was  a  sound — a  warning — the  clearing  of  a 
throat.  The  aunts  glanced  up,  and  withered  in  their 
clothes  —  there  stood  the  doctor,  his  face  a  thun 
der-cloud.  Mother  and  child  knew  nothing  of  his 
presence;  they  lay  locked  together,  heart  to  heart, 


76  The  $30,000  Bequest 

steeped  in  immeasurable  content,  dead  to  all  things 
else.  The  physician  stood  many  moments  glaring 
and  glooming  upon  the  scene  before  him;  studying  it, 
analyzing  it,  searching  out  its  genesis;  then  he  put 
up  his  hand  and  beckoned  to  the  aunts.  They  came 
trembling  to  him,  and  stood  humbly  before  him  and 
waited.  He  bent  down  and  whispered: 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  this  patient  must  be  protected 
from  all  excitement  ?  What  the  hell  have  you  been 
doing?  Clear  out  of  the  place!" 

They  obeyed.  Half  an  hour  later  he  appeared  in 
the  parlor,  serene,  cheery,  clothed  in  sunshine,  con 
ducting  Helen,  with  his  arm  about  her  waist,  pet 
ting  her,  and  saying  gentle  and  playful  things  to 
her;  and  she  also  was  her  sunny  and  happy  self 
again. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said,  "good-bye,  dear.  Go  to 
your  room,  and  keep  away  from  your  mother,  and 
behave  yourself.  But  wait — put  out  your  tongue. 
There,  that  will  do — you're  as  sound  as  a  nut!"  He 
patted  her  cheek  and  added,  "Run  along  now;  I 
want  to  talk  to  these  aunts." 

She  went  from  the  presence.  His  face  clouded 
over  again  at  once ;  and  as  he  sat  down  he  said : 

"You  two  have  been  doing  a  lot  of  damage — and 
maybe  some  good.  Some  good,  yes — such  as  it  is. 
That  woman's  disease  is  typhoid!  You've  brought 
it  to  a  show-up,  I  think,  with  your  insanities,  and 
that's  a  service — such  as  it  is.  I  hadn't  been  able  to 
determine  what  it  was  before." 


Was  it  Heaven  ?   or  Hell  ?  77 

With  one  impulse  the  old  ladies  sprang  to  their  feet, 
quaking  with  terror. 

"Sit  down!     What  are  you  proposing  to  do?" 

"  Do  ?     We  must  fly  to  her.     We—" 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind;  you've  done 
enough  harm  for  one  day.  Do  you  want  to  squander 
all  your  capital  of  crimes  and  follies  on  a  single  deal  ? 
Sit  down,  I  tell  you.  I  have  arranged  for  her  to 
sleep;  she  needs  it;  if  you  disturb  her  without  my 
orders,  I'll  brain  you — if  you've  got  the  materials 
for  it." 

They  sat  down,  distressed  and  indignant,  but  obe 
dient,  under  compulsion.  He  proceeded: 

"Now,  then,  I  want  this  case  explained.  They 
wanted  to  explain  it  to  me — as  if  there  hadn't  been 
emotion  and  excitement  enough  already.  You  knew 
my  orders;  how  did  you  dare  to  go  in  there  and  get 
up  that  riot?" 

Hester  looked  appealingly  at  Hannah;  Hannah 
returned  a  beseeching  look  at  Hester — neither  wanted 
to  dance  to  this  unsympathetic  orchestra.  The  doc 
tor  came  to  their  help.  He  said: 

"Begin,  Hester." 

Fingering  at  the  fringes  of  her  shawl,  and  with  low 
ered  eyes,  Hester  said,  timidly: 

"We  should  not  have  disobeyed  for  any  ordinary 
cause,  but  this  was  vital.  This  was  a  duty.  With  a 
duty  one  has  no  choice ;  one  must  put  all  lighter  con 
siderations  aside  and  perform  it.  We  were  obliged 
to  arraign  her  before  her  mother.  She  had  told  a  lie." 


78  The  $30,000  Bequest. 

The  doctor  glowered  upon  the  woman  a  moment, 
and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  work  up  in  his  mind  an 
understanding  of  a  wholly  incomprehensible  proposi 
tion  ;  then  he  stormed  out : 

"She  told  a  lie!  Did  she*  God  bless  my  soul!  I 
tell  a  million  a  day!  And  so  does  every  doctor.  And 
so  does  everybody — including  you — for  that  matter. 
And  that  was  the  important  thing  that  authorized 
you  to  venture  to  disobey  my  orders  and  imperil 
that  woman's  life!  Look  here,  Hester  Gray,  this  is 
pure  lunacy;  that  girl  couldn't  tell  a  lie  that  was  in 
tended  to  injure  a  person.  The  thing  is  impossible 
— absolutely  impossible.  You  know  it  yourselves — 
both  of  you;  you  know  it  perfectly  well." 

Hannah  came  to  her  sister's  rescue: 

"Hester  didn't  mean  that  it  was  that  kind  of  a 
lie,  and  it  wasn't.  But  it  was  a  lie." 

"Well,  upon  my  word,  I  never  heard  such  non 
sense!  Haven't  you  got  sense  enough  to  discriminate 
between  lies?  Don't  you  know  the  difference  be 
tween  a  lie  that  helps  and  a  lie  that  hurts?" 

"All  lies  are  sinful,"  said  Hannah,  setting  her  lips 
together  like  a  vise;  "all  lies  are  forbidden." 

The  Only  Christian  fidgeted  impatiently  in  his 
chair.  He  wanted  to  attack  this  proposition,  but  he 
did  not  quite  know  how  or  where  to  begin.  Finally 
he  made  a  venture: 

"Hester,  wouldn't  you  tell  a  lie  to  shield  a  person 
from  an  undeserved  injury  or  shame?" 

"No." 


Was  it  Heaven?   or  Hell?  79 

"Not  even  a  friend?" 

"No." 

"Not  even  your  dearest  friend?" 

"No.     I  would  not." 

The  doctor  struggled  in  silence  awhile  with  this 
situation ;  then  he  asked : 

"Not  even  to  save  him  from  bitter  pain  and 
misery  and  grief?" 

"No.     Not  even  to  save  his  life." 

Another  pause.     Then: 

"Nor  his  soul." 

There  was  a  hush  —  a  silence  which  endured  a 
measurable  interval  —  then  Hester  answered,  in  a 
low  voice,  but  with  decision: 

"Nor  his  soul'." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  while;  then  the  doctor  said: 

"Is  it  with  you  the  same,  Hannah?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

"I  ask  you  both— why?" 

"Because  to  tell  such  a  lie,  or  any  lie,  is  a  sin,  and 
could  cost  us  the  loss  of  our  own  souls — would,  in 
deed,  if  we  died  without  time  to  repent." 

"Strange  .  .  .  strange  ...  it  is  past  belief."  Then 
he  asked,  roughly:  "Is  such  a  soul  as  that  worth  sav 
ing?"  He  rose  up,  mumbling  and  grumbling,  and 
started  for  the  door,  stumping  vigorously  along.  At 
the  threshold  he  turned  and  rasped  out  an  admoni 
tion:  "Reform!  Drop  this  mean  and  sordid  and 
selfish  devotion  to  the  saving  of  your  shabby  little 
souls,  and  hunt  up  something  to  do  that's  got  some 


8o  The  $30,000  Bequest 

dignity  to  it!  Risk  your  souls!  risk  them  in  good 
causes ;  then  if  you  lose  them,  why  should  you  care  ? 
Reform!" 

The  good  old  gentlewomen  sat  paralyzed,  pul 
verized,  outraged,  insulted,  and  brooded  in  bitter 
ness  and  indignation  over  these  blasphemies.  They 
were  hurt  to  the  heart,  poor  old  ladies,  and  said  they 
could  never  forgive  these  injuries. 

"Reform!" 

They  kept  repeating  that  word  resentfully.  "Re 
form — and  learn  to  tell  lies!" 

Time  slipped  along,  and  in  due  course  a  change 
came  over  their  spirits.  They  had  completed  the 
human  being's  first  duty — which  is  to  think  about 
himself  until  he  has  exhausted  the  subject,  then  he 
is  in  a  condition  to  take  up  minor  interests  and 
think  of  other  people.  This  changes  the  complexion 
of  his  spirits — generally  wholesomely.  The  minds  of 
the  two  old  ladies  reverted  to  their  beloved  niece  and 
the  fearful  disease  which  had  smitten  her;  instantly 
they  forgot  the  hurts  their  self-love  had  received,  and 
a  passionate  desire  rose  in  their  hearts  to  go  to  the 
help  of  the  sufferer  and  comfort  her  with  their  love, 
and  minister  to  her,  and  labor  for  her  the  best  they 
could  with  their  weak  hands,  and  joyfully  and  affec 
tionately  wear  out  their  poor  old  bodies  in  her  dear 
service  if  only  they  might  have  the  privilege. 

"And  we  shall  have  it!"  said  Hester,  with  the 
tears  running  down  her  face.  "There  are  no  nurses 
comparable  to  us,  for  there  are  no  others  that  will 


Was  it  Heaven?  or  Hell?  81 

stand  their  watch  by  that  bed  till  they  drop  and  die, 
and  God  knows  we  would  do  that." 

"Amen,"  said  Hannah,  smiling  approval  and  en 
dorsement  through  the  mist  of  moisture  that  blurred 
her  glasses.  "The  doctor  knows  us,  and  knows  we 
will  not  disobey  again;  and  he  will  call  no  others. 
He  will  not  dare!" 

"Dare?"  said  Hester,  with  temper,  and  dashing 
the  water  from  her  eyes;  "he  will  dare  anything — 
that  Christian  devil !  But  it  will  do  no  good  for  him 
to  try  it  this  time — but,  laws!  Hannah!  after  all's 
said  and  done,  he  is  gifted  and  wise  and  good,  and 
he  would  not  think  of  such  a  thing.  ...  It  is  surely 
time  for  one  of  us  to  go  to  that  room.  What  is 
keeping  him?  Why  doesn't  he  come  and  say  so?" 

They  caught  the  sound  of  his  approaching  step. 
He  entered,  sat  down,  and  began  to  talk. 

"Margaret  is  a  sick  woman,"  he  said.  "She  is 
still  sleeping,  but  she  will  wake  presently;  then  one 
of  you  must  go  to  her.  She  will  be  worse  before  she 
is  better.  Pretty  soon  a  night-and-day  watch  must 
be  set.  How  much  of  it  can  you  two  undertake?" 

"All  of  it!"  burst  from  both  ladies  at  once. 

The  doctor's  eyes  flashed,  and  he  said,  with 
energy: 

"You  do  ring  true,  you  brave  old  relics!  And  you 
shall  do  all  of  the  nursing  you  can,  for  there's  none 
to  match  you  in  that  divine  office  in  this  town;  but 
you  can't  do  all  of  it,  and  it  would  be  a  crime  to  let 
you."  It  was  grand  praise,  golden  praise,  coming 


82  The  $30,000  Bequest 

from  such  a  source,  and  it  took  nearly  all  the  resent 
ment  out  of  the  aged  twins'  hearts.  "Your  Tilly 
and  my  old  Nancy  shall  do  the  rest — good  nurses 
both,  white  souls  with  black  skins,  watchful,  loving, 
tender — just  perfect  nurses! — and  competent  liars 
from  the  cradle.  .  .  .  Look  you!  keep  a  little  watch 
on  Helen;  she  is  sick,  and  is  going  to  be  sicker." 

The  ladies  looked  a  little  surprised,  and  not  credu 
lous;  and  Hester  said: 

"How  is  that?  It  isn't  an  hour  since  you  said  she 
was  as  sound  as  a  nut." 

The  doctor  answered,  tranquilly: 

"It  was  a  lie." 

The  ladies  turned  upon  him  indignantly,  and 
Hannah  said: 

"How  can  you  make  an  odious  confession  like 
that,  in  so  indifferent  a  tone,  when  you  know  how 
we  feel  about  all  forms  of — -" 

"  Hush!  You  are  as  ignorant  as  cats,  both  of  you, 
and  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 
You  are  like  all  the  rest  of  the  moral  moles:  you  lie 
from  morning  till  night,  but  because  you  don't  do  it 
with  your  mouths,  but  only  with  your  lying  eyes, 
your  lying  inflections,  your  deceptively  misplaced 
emphasis,  and  your  misleading  gestures,  you  turn  up 
your  complacent  noses  and  parade  before  God  and 
the  world  as  saintly  and  unsmirched  Truth-Speakers, 
in  whose  cold-storage  souls  a  lie  would  freeze  to 
death  if  it  got  there!  Why  will  you  humbug  your 
selves  with  that  foolish  notion  that  no  lie  is  a  lie  ex- 


Was  it  Heaven?   or  Hell?  83 

cept  a  spoken  one?  What  is  the  difference  between 
lying  with  your  eyes  and  lying  with  your  mouth? 
There  is  none;  and  if  you  would  reflect  a  moment 
you  would  see  that  it  is  so.  There  isn't  a  human 
being  that  doesn't  tell  a  gross  of  lies  every  day  of  his 
life;  and  you — why,  between  you,  you  tell  thirty 
thousand ;  yet  you  flare  up  here  in  a  lurid  hypocritical 
horror  because  I  tell  that  child  a  benevolent  and  sin 
less  lie  to  protect  her  from  her  imagination,  which 
would  get  to  work  and  warm  up  her  blood  to  a  fever 
in  an  hour,  if  I  were  disloyal  enough  to  my  duty  to 
let  it.  Which  I  should  probably  do  if  I  were  in 
terested  in  saving  my  soul  by  such  disreputable 
means. 

"Come,  let  us  reason  together.  Let  us  examine 
details.  When  you  two  were  in  the  sick-room  raising 
that  riot,  what  would  you  have  done  if  you  had 
known  I  was  coming?" 

"Well,  what?" 

"You  would  have  slipped  out  and  carried  Helen 
with  you — wouldn't  you?" 

The  ladies  were  silent. 

"What  would  be  your  object  and  intention?" 

"Well,  what?" 

"To  keep  me  from  finding  out  your  guilt;  to  be 
guile  me  to  infer  that  Margaret's  excitement  pro 
ceeded  from  some  cause  not  known  to  you.  In  a 
word,  to  tell  me  a  lie — a  silent  lie.  Moreover,  a  pos 
sibly  harmful  one." 

The  twins  colored,  but  did  not  speak. 


84  The  $30,000  Bequest 

"You  not  only  tell  myriads  of  silent  lies,  but  you 
tell  lies  with  your  mouths — you  two." 

"  That  is  not  so!" 

"It  is  so.  But  only  harmless  ones.  You  never 
dream  of  uttering  a  harmful  one.  Do  you  know 
that  that  is  a  concession — and  a  confession?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"It  is  an  unconscious  concession  that  harmless  lies 
are  not  criminal;  it  is  a  confession  that  you  con 
stantly  make  that  discrimination.  For  instance,  you 
declined  old  Mrs.  Foster's  invitation  last  week  to 
meet  those  odious  Higbies  at  supper — in  a  polite 
note  in  which  you  expressed  regret  and  said  you 
were  very  sorry  you  could  not  go.  It  was  a  lie.  It 
was  as  unmitigated  a  lie  as  was  ever  uttered.  Deny 
it,  Hester — with  another  lie." 

Hester  replied  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"That  will  not  do.  Answer.  Was  it  a  lie,  or 
wasn't  it?" 

The  color  stole  into  the  cheeks  of  both  women, 
and  with  a  struggle  and  an  effort  they  got  out  their 
confession : 

"It  was  a  lie." 

"Good — the  reform  is  beginning;  there  is  hope  for 
you  yet;  you  will  not  tell  a  lie  to  save  your  dearest 
friend's  soul,  but  you  will  spew  out  one  without  a 
scruple  to  save  yourself  the  discomfort  of  telling  an 
unpleasant  truth." 

He  rose.     Hester,  speaking  for  both,  said,  coldly: 

"We  have  lied;  we  perceive  it;  it  will  occur  no 


Was  it  Heaven  ?   or  Hell  ?  85 

more.  To  lie  is  a  sin.  We  shall  never  tell  another 
one  of  any  kind  whatsoever,  even  lies  of  courtesy  or 
benevolence,  to  save  any  one  a  pang  or  a  sorrow  de 
creed  for  him  by  God." 

"Ah,  how  soon  you  will  fall!  In  fact,  you  have 
fallen  already;  for  what  you  have  just  uttered  is  a 
lie.  Good-bye.  Reform!  One  of  you  go  to  the 
sick-room  now." 


IV 

TWELVE  days  later. 

Mother  and  child  were  lingering  in  the  grip  of  the 
hideous  disease.  Of  hope  for  either  there  was  little. 
The  aged  sisters  looked  white  and  worn,  but  they 
would  not  give  up  their  posts.  Their  hearts  were 
breaking,  poor  old  things,  but  their  grit  was  stead 
fast  and  indestructible.  All  the  twelve  days  the 
mother  had  pined  for  the  child,  and  the  child  for  the 
mother,  but  both  knew  that  the  prayer  of  these 
longings  could  not  be  granted.  When  the  mother 
was  told — on  the  first  day — that  her  disease  was 
typhoid,  she  was  frightened,  and  asked  if  there  was 
danger  that  Helen  could  have  contracted  it  trie  day 
before,  when  she  was  in  the  sick-chamber  on  that 
confession  visit.  Hester  told  her  the  doctor  had 
poo-pooed  the  idea.  It  troubled  Hester  to  say  it, 
although  it  was  true,  for  she  had  not  believed  the 
doctor;  but  when  she  saw  the  mother's  joy  in  the 
news,  the  pain  in  her  conscience  lost  something  of  its 
force — a  result  which  made  her  ashamed  of  the  con 
structive  deception  which  she  had  practised,  though 
not  ashamed  enough  to  make  her  distinctly  and 
definitely  wish  she  had  refrained  from  it.  From 
that  moment  the  sick  woman  understood  that  her 


Was   it  Heaven?   or  Hell?  87 

daughter  must  remain  away,  and  she  said  she  would 
reconcile  herself  to  the  separation  the  best  she  could, 
for  she  would  rather  surfer  death  than  have  her 
child's  health  imperilled.  That  afternoon  Helen  had 
to  take  to  her  bed,  ill.  She  grew  worse  during  the 
night.  In  the  morning  her  mother  asked  after  her: 

"Is  she  well?" 

Hester  turned  cold;  she  opened  her  lips,  but  the 
words  refused  to  come.  The  mother  lay  languidly 
looking,  musing,  waiting;  suddenly  she  turned  white 
and  gasped  out: 

"Oh,  my  God!  what  is  it?  is  she  sick?" 

Then  the  poor  aunt's  tortured  heart  rose  in  re 
bellion,  and  words  came: 

"No — be  comforted;  she  is  well." 

The  sick  woman  put  all  her  happy  heart  in  her 
gratitude: 

"Thank  God  for  those  dear  words!  Kiss  me. 
How  I  worship  you  for  saying  them!" 

Hester  told  this  incident  to  Hannah,  who  received 
it  with  a  rebuking  look,  and  said,  coldly: 

"Sister,  it  was  a  lie." 

Hester's  lips  trembled  piteously;  she  choked  down 
a  sob,  and  said: 

"Oh,  Hannah,  it  was  a  sin,  but  I  could  not  help  it; 
I  could  not  endure  the  fright  and  the  misery  that 
were  in  her  face." 

"No  matter.  It  was  a  lie.  God  will  hold  you  to 
account  for  it." 

"Oh,  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  cried  Hester,  wringing 


88  The  $30,000  Bequest 

her  hands,  "but  even  if  it  were  now,  I  could  not  help 
it.  I  know  I  should  do  it  again." 

"Then  take  my  place  with  Helen  in  the  morning. 
I  will  make  the  report  myself." 

Hester  clung  to  her  sister,  begging  and  imploring: 

"Don't,  Hannah,  oh,  don't — you  will  kill  her." 

"I  will  at  least  speak  the  truth." 

In  the  morning  she  had  a  cruel  report  to  bear  to 
the  mother,  and  she  braced  herself  for  the  trial. 
When  she  returned  from  her  mission,  Hester  was 
waiting,  pale  and  trembling,  in  the' hall.  She  whis 
pered  : 

"Oh,  how  did  she  take  it — that  poor,  desolate 
mother?" 

Hannah's  eyes  were  swimming  in  tears.     She  said: 

"God  forgive  me,  I  told  her  the  child  was  well!" 

Hester  gathered  her  to  her  heart,  with  a  grateful 
"God  bless  you,  Hannah!"  and  poured  out  her  thank 
fulness  in  an  inundation  of  worshipping  praises. 

After  that,  the  two  knew  the  limit  of  their  strength, 
and  accepted  their  fate.  They  surrendered  hum 
bly,  and  abandoned  themselves  to  the  hard  require 
ments  of  the  situation.  Daily  they  told  the  morning 
lie,  and  confessed  their  sin  in  prayer;  not  asking  for 
giveness,  as  not  being  worthy  of  it,  but  only  wish 
ing  to  make  record  that  they  realized  their  wicked 
ness  and  were  not  desiring  to  hide  it  or  excuse  it. 

Daily,  as  the  fair  young  idol  of  the  house  sank 
lower  and  lower,  the  sorrowful  old  aunts  painted  her 
glowing  bloom  and  her  fresh  young  beauty  to  the 


Was  it  Heaven?   or  Hell?  89 

wan  mother,  and  winced  under  the  stabs  her  ecstasies 
of  joy  and  gratitude  gave  them. 

In  the  first  days,  while  the  child  had  strength  to 
hold  a  pencil,  she  wrote  fond  little  love-notes  to  her 
mother,  in  which  she  concealed  her  illness ;  and  these 
the  mother  read  and  re-read  through  happy  eyes  wet 
with  thankful  tears,  and  kissed  them  over  and  over 
again,  and  treasured  them  as  precious  things  under 
her  pillow. 

Then  came  a  day  when  the  strength  was  gone  from 
the  hand,  and  the  mind  wandered,  and  the  tongue 
babbled  pathetic  incoherences.  This  was  a  sore  di 
lemma  for  the  poor  aunts.  There  were  no  love-notes 
for  the  mother.  They  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
Hester  began  a  carefully  studied  and  plausible  ex 
planation,  but  lost  the  track  of  it  and  grew  confused; 
suspicion  began  to  show  in  the  mother's  face,  then 
alarm.  Hester  saw  it,  recognized  the  imminence  of 
the  danger,  and  descended  to  the  emergency,  pulling 
herself  resolutely  together  and  plucking  victory  from 
the  open  jaws  of  defeat.  In  a  placid  and  convincing 
voice  she  said: 

"I  thought  it  might  distress  you  to  know  it,  but 
Helen  spent  the  night  at  the  Sloanes'.  There  was  a 
little  party  there,  and  although  she  did  not  want  to 
go,  and  you  so  sick,  we  persuaded  her,  she  being  young 
and  needing  the  innocent  pastimes  of  youth,  and  we 
believing  you  would  approve.  Be  sure  she  will  write 
the  moment  she  comes." 

J'  How  good  you  are,  and  how  dear  and  thoughtful 


90  The  $30,000  Bequest 

for  us  both!  Approve?  Why,  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart.  My  poor  little  exile!  Tell  her  I  want  her 
to  have  every  pleasure  she  can — I  would  not  rob  her 
of  one.  j  Only  let  her  keep  her  health,  that  is  all  I 
ask.  Don't  let  that  suffer ;  I  could  not  bear  it.  How 
thankful  I  am  that  she  escaped  this  infection — and 
what  a  narrow  risk  she  ran,  Aunt  Hester!  Think  of 
that  lovely  face  all  dulled  and  burned  with  fever.  I 
can't  bear  the  thought  of  it.  Keep  her  health.  Keep 
her  bloom!  I  can  see  her  now,  the  dainty  creature — 
with  the  big,  blue,  earnest  eyes;  and  sweet,  oh,  so 
sweet  and  gentle  and  winning!  Is  she  as  beautiful 
as  ever,  dear  Aunt  Hester?" 

"Oh,  more  beautiful  and  bright  and  charming  than 
ever  she  was  before,  if  such  a  thing  can  be" — and 
Hester  turned  away  and  fumbled  with  the  medicine- 
bottles,  to  hide  her  shame  and  grief. 


AFTER  a  little,  both  aunts  were  laboring  upon  a 
difficult  and  baffling  work  in  Helen's  chamber.  Pa 
tiently  and  earnestly,  with  their  stiff  old  fingers,  they 
were  trying  to  forge  the  required  note.  They  made 
failure  after  failure,  but  they  improved  little  by  little 
all  the  time.  The  pity  of  it  all,  the  pathetic  humor 
of  it,  there  was  none  to  see;  they  themselves  were 
unconscious  of  it.  Often  their  tears  fell  upon  the 
notes  and  spoiled  them;  sometimes  a  single  mis- 
formed  word  made  a  note  risky  which  could  have 
been  ventured  but  for  that ;  but  at  last  Hannah  pro 
duced  one  whose  script  was  a  good  enough  imitation 
of  Helen's  to  pass  any  but  a  suspicious  eye,  and 
bountifully  enriched  it  with  the  petting  phrases  and 
loving  nicknames  that  had  been  familiar  on  the 
child's  lips  from  her  nursery  days.  She  carried  it  to 
the  mother,  who  took  it  with  avidity,  and  kissed  it; 
and  fondled  it,  reading  its  precious  words  over  and 
over  again,  and  dwelling  with  deep  contentment  upon 
its  closing  paragraph : 

"Mousie  darling,  if  I  could  only  see  you,  and  kiss 
your  eyes,  and  feel  your  arms  about  me!  I  am  so 
glad  my  practising  does  not  disturb  you.  Get  well 


92  The  $30,000  Bequest 

soon.  Everybody  is  good  to  me,  but  I  am  so  lone 
some  without  you,  dear  mamma." 

"The  poor  child,  I  know  just  how  she  feels.  She 
cannot  be  quite  happy  without  me;  and  I — oh,  I  live 
in  the  light  of  her  eyes!  Tell  her  she  must  practise 
all  she  pleases;  and,  Aunt  Hannah — tell  her  I  can't 
hear  the  piano  this  far,  nor  her  dear  voice  when  she 
sings:  God  knows  I  wish  I  could.  No  one  knows 
how  sweet  that  voice  is  to  me;  and  to  think — some 
day  it  will  be  silent!  What  are  you  crying  for?" 

"Only  because — because — it  was  just  a  memory. 
When  I  came  away  she  was  singing,  'Loch  Lomond.' 
The  pathos  of  it!  It  always  moves  me  so  when  she 
sings  that." 

"And  me,  too.  How  heart-breakingly  beautiful  it 
is  when  some  youthful  sorrow  is  brooding  in  her 
breast  and  she  sings  it  for  the  mystic  healing  it 
brings.  .  .  .  Aunt  Hannah?" 

"Dear  Margaret?" 

"I  am  very  ill.  Sometimes  it  comes  over  me  that 
I  shall  never  hear  that  dear  voice  again." 

"Oh,  don't — don't,  Margaret!     I  can't  bear  it!" 

Margaret  was  moved  and  distressed,  and  said, 
gently : 

"There — there — let  me  put  my  arms  around  you. 
Don't  cry.  There — put  your  cheek  to  mine.  Be 
comforted.  I  wish  to  live.  I  will  live  if  I  can.  Ah, 
what  could  she  do  without  me!  .  .  .  Does  she  often 
speak  of  me? — but  I  know  she  does." 

"Oh,  all  the  time— all  the  time!" 


Was  it  Heaven  ?  or  Hell  ?  93 

"  My  sweet  child!  She  wrote  the  note  the  moment 
she  came  home?" 

"Yes — the  first  moment.  She  would  not  wait  to 
take  off  her  things." 

"I  knew  it.  It  is  her  dear,  impulsive,  affectionate 
way.  I  knew  it  without  asking,  but  I  wanted  to  hear 
you  say  it.  The  petted  wife  knows  she  is  loved,  but 
she  makes  her  husband  tell  her  so  every  day,  just  for 
the  joy  of  hearing  it.  ...  She  vised  the  pen  this  time. 
That  is  better;  the  pencil -marks  could  rub  out,  and  I 
should  grieve  for  that.  Did  you  suggest  that  she  use 
the  pen?" 

"Y-no — she — it  was  her  own  idea." 

The  mother  looked  her  pleasure,  and  said: 

"I  was  hoping  you  would  say  that.  There  was 
never  such  a  dear  and  thoughtful  child!  .  .  .  Aunt 
Hannah?" 

"Dear  Margaret?" 

"Go  and  tell  her  I  think  of  her  all  the  time,  and 
worship  her.  Why — you  are  crying  again.  Don't 
be  so  worried  about  me,  dear;  I  think  there  is  noth 
ing  to  fear,  yet." 

The  grieving  messenger  carried  her  message,  and 
piously  delivered  it  to  unheeding  ears.  The  girl 
babbled  on  unaware ;  looking  up  at  her  with  wonder 
ing  and  startled  eyes  flaming  with  fever,  eyes  in 
which  was  no  light  of  recognition: 

"Are  you — no,  you  are  not  my  mother.  I  want 
her — oh,  I  want  her!  She  was  here  a  minute  ago — I 
did  not  see  her  go.  Will  she  come?  will  she  come 


94  The  $30,000  Bequest 

quickly  ?  will  she  come  now  ?  .  .  .  There  are  so  many 
houses  .  .  .  and  they  oppress  me  so  ...  and  every 
thing  whirls  and  turns  and  whirls  .  .  .oh,  my  head, 
my  head!" — and  so  she  wandered  on  and  on,  in  her 
pain,  flitting  from  one  torturing  fancy  to  another, 
and  tossing  her  arms  about  in  a  weary  and  ceaseless 
persecution  of  unrest. 

Poor  old  Hannah  wetted  the  parched  lips  and 
softly  stroked  the  hot  brow,  murmuring  endearing 
and  pitying  words,  and  thanking  the  Father  of  all 
that  the  mother  was  happy  and  did  not  know. 


VI 


DAILY  the  child  sank  lower  and  steadily  lower 
towards  the  grave,  and  daily  the  sorrowing  old 
watchers  carried  gilded  tidings  of  her  radiant  health 
and  loveliness  to  the  happy  mother,  whose  pilgrimage 
was  also  now  nearing  its  end.  And  daily  they  forged 
loving  and  cheery  notes  in  the  child's  hand,  and  stood 
by  with  remorseful  consciences  and  bleeding  hearts, 
and  wept  to  see  the  grateful  mother  devour  them  and 
adore  them  and  treasure  them  away  as  things  beyond 
price,  because  of  their  sweet  source,  and  sacred  be 
cause  her  child's  hand  had  touched  them. 

At  last  came  that  kindly  friend  who  brings  healing 
and  peace  to  all.  The  lights  were  burning  low.  In 
the  solemn  hush  which  precedes  the  dawn  vague 
figures  flitted  soundless  along  the  dim  hall  and  gath 
ered  silent  and  awed  in  Helen's  chamber,  and  grouped 
themselves  about  her  bed,  for  a  warning  had  gone 
forth,  and  they  knew.  The  dying  girl  lay  with  closed 
lids,  and  unconscious,  the  drapery  upon  her  breast 
faintly  rising  and  falling  as  her  wasting  life  ebbed 
away.  At  intervals  a  sigh  or  a  muffled  sob  broke 
upon  the  stillness.  The  same  haunting  thought  was 
in  all  minds  there:  the  pity  of  this  death,  the  going 


96  The  $30,000  Bequest 

out  into  the  great  darkness,  and  the  mother  not  here 
to  help  and  hearten  and  bless. 

Helen  stirred;  her  hands  began  to  grope  wistfully 
about  as  if  they  sought  something — she  had  been 
blind  some  hours.  The  end  was  come;  all  knew  it. 
With  a  great  sob  Hester  gathered  her  to  her  breast, 
crying,  "Oh,  my  child,  my  darling!"  A  rapturous 
light  broke  in  the  dying  girl's  face,  for  it  was  merci 
fully  vouchsafed  her  to  mistake  those  sheltering  arms 
for  another's;  and  she  went  to  her  rest  murmuring, 
"Oh,  mamma,  I  am  so  happy — I  so  longed  for  you — 
now  I  can  die." 

Two  hours  later  Hester  made  her  report.  The 
mother  asked. 

"How  is  it  with  the  child?" 
"She  is  well." 


VII 


A  SHEAF  of  white  crape  and  black  was  hung  upon 
the  door  of  the  house,  and  there  it  swayed  and 
rustled  in  the  wind  and  whispered  its  tidings.  At 
noon  the  preparation  of  the  dead  was  finished,  and 
in  the  coffin  lay  the  fair  young  form,  beautiful,  and 
in  the  sweet  face  a  great  peace.  Two  mourners  sat 
by  it,  grieving  and  worshipping — Hannah  and  the 
black  woman  Tilly.  Hester  came,  and  she  was  trem 
bling,  for  a  great  trouble  was  upon  her  spirit.  She 
said: 

"She  asks  for  a  note." 

Hannah's  face  blanched.  She  had  not  thought  of 
this;  it  had  seemed  that  that  pathetic  service  was 
ended.  But  she  realized  now  that  that  could  not  be. 
For  a  little  while  the  two  women  stood  looking  into 
each  other's  face,  with  vacant  eyes;  then  Hannah 
said: 

"There  is  no  way  out  of  it — she  must  have  it;  she 
will  suspect,  else." 

"And  she  would  find  out." 

"Yes.  It  would  break  her  heart."  She  looked  at 
the  dead  face,  and  her  eyes  filled.  "I  will  write  it," 
she  said. 

Hester  carried  it.     The  closing  line  said: 


98  The  $30,000  Bequest 

"Darling  Mousie,  dear  sweet  mother,  we  shall  soon 
be  together  again.  Is  not  that  good  news  ?  And  it 
is  true;  they  all  say  it  is  true." 

The  mother  mourned,  saying: 

"Poor  child,  how  will  she  bear  it  when  she  knows? 
I  shall  never  see  her  again  in  life.  It  is  hard,  so  hard. 
She  does  not  suspect  ?  You  guard  her  from  that  ?" 

"She  thinks  you  will  soon  be  well." 

"  How  good  you  are,  and  careful,  dear  Aunt  Hester! 
None  goes  near  her  who  could  carry  the  infection  ?" 

"It  would  be  a  crime." 

"But  you  see  her?" 

"With  a  distance  between — yes." 

"That  is  so  good.  Others  one  could  not  trust;  but 
you  two  guardian  angels — steel  is  not  so  true  as  you. 
Others  would  be  unfaithful ;  and  many  would  deceive, 
and  lie." 

Hester's  eyes  fell,  and  her  poor  old  lips  trembled. 

"Let  me  kiss  you  for  her,  Aunt  Hester;  and  when 
I  am  gone,  and  the  danger  is  past,  place  the  kiss  upon 
her  dear  lips  some  day,  and  say  her  mother  sent  it, 
and  all  her  mother's  broken  heart  is  in  it." 

Within  the  hour,  Hester,  raining  tears  upon  the 
dead  face,  performed  her  pathetic  mission. 


VIII 

ANOTHER  day  dawned,  and  grew,  and  spread  its 
sunshine  in  the  earth.  Aunt  Hannah  brought  com 
forting  news  to  the  failing  mother,  and  a  happy  note, 
which  said  again,  "We  have  but  a  little  time  to  wait, 
darling  mother,  then  we  shall  be  together." 

The  deep  note  of  a  bell  came  moaning  down  the 
wind. 

"Aunt  Hannah,  it  is  tolling.  Some  poor  soul  is  at 
rest.  As  I  shall  be  soon.  You  will  not  let  her  for 
get  me?" 

"Oh,  God  knows  she  never  will!" 

"Do  not  you  hear  strange  noises,  Aunt  Hannah? 
It  sounds  like  the  shuffling  of  many  feet." 

"We  hoped  you  would  not  hear  it,  dear.  It  is  a 
little  company  gathering,  for — for  Helen's  sake,  poor 
little  prisoner.  There  will  be  music — and  she  loves 
it  so.  We  thought  you  would  not  mind." 

"Mind?  Oh  no,  no — oh,  give  her  everything  her 
dear  heart  can  desire.  How  good  you  two  are  to  her, 
and  how  good  to  me!  God  bless  you  both,  always!" 

After  a  listening  pause: 

"How  lovely!  It  is  her  organ.  Is  she  playing  it 
herself,  do  you  think  ?"  Faint  and  rich  and  inspiring 
the  chords  floated  to  her  ears  on  the  still  air.  "Yes, 


ioo  The  $30,000  Bequest 

it  is  her  touch,  dear  heart,  I  recognize  it.  They  are 
singing.  Why — it  is  a  hymn!  and  the  sacred est  of 
all,  the  most  touching,  the  most  consoling.  ...  It 
seems  to  open  the  gates  of  paradise  to  me.  ...  If  I 
could  die  now.  ..." 

Faint  and  far  the  words  rose  out  of  the  stillness: 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 

Nearer  to  Thee, 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raise th  me. 

With  the  closing  of  the  hymn  another  soul  passed 
to  its  rest,  and  they  that  had  been  one  in  life  were 
not  sundered  in  death.  The  sisters,  mourning  and 
rejoicing,  said: 

"How  blessed  it  was  that  she  never  knew!" 


IX 


AT  midnight  they  sat  together,  grieving,  and  the 
angel  of  the  Lord  appeared  in  the  midst  transfigured 
with  a  radiance  not  of  earth;  and  speaking,  said: 

"For  liars  a  place  is  appointed.  There  they  burn 
in  the  fires  of  hell  from  everlasting  unto  everlasting. 
Repent!" 

The  bereaved  fell  upon  their  knees  before  him  and 
clasped  their  hands  and  bowed  their  gray  heads, 
adoring.  But  their  tongues  clove  to  the  roof  of  their 
mouths,  and  they  were  dumb. 

"Speak!  that  I  may  bear  the  message  to  the 
chancery  of  heaven  and  bring  again  the  decree  from 
which  there  is  no  appeal." 

Then  they  bowed  their  heads  yet  lower,  and  one  said : 

"Our  sin  is  great,  and  we  suffer  shame;  but  only 
perfect  and  final  repentance  can  make  us  whole ;  and 
we  are  poor  creatures  who  have  learned  our  human 
weakness,  and  we  know  that  if  we  were  in  those  hard 
straits  again  our  hearts  would  fail  again,  and  we 
should  sin  as  before.  The  strong  could  prevail,  and 
so  be  saved,  but  we  are  lost." 

They  lifted  their  heads  in  supplication.  The  angel 
was  gone.  While  they  marvelled  and  wept  he  came 
again;  and  bending  low,  he  whispered  the  decree. 


X 

WAS  it  Heaven?    Or  Hell? 


THE  CALIFORNIAN'S  TALE 

THIRTY -FIVE  years  ago  I  was  out  prospecting 
on  the  Stanislaus,  tramping  all  day  long  with 
pick  and  pan  and  horn,  and  washing  a  hatful  of  dirt 
here  and  there,  always  expecting  to  make  a  rich 
strike,  and  never  doing  it.  It  was  a  lovely  region, 
woodsy,  balmy,  delicious,  and  had  once  been  popu 
lous,  long  years  before,  but  now  the  people  had  van 
ished  and  the  charming  paradise  was  a  solitude. 
They  went  away  when  the  surface  diggings  gave  out. 
In  one  place,  where  a  busy  little  city  with  banks  and 
newspapers  and  fire  companies  and  a  mayor  and 
aldermen  had  been,  was  nothing  but  a  wide  expanse 
of  emerald  turf,  with  not  even  the  faintest  sign  that 
human  life  had  ever  been  present  there.  This  was 
down  towards  Tuttletown.  In  the  country  neighbor 
hood  thereabouts,  along  the  dusty  roads,  one  found 
at  intervals  the  prettiest  little  cottage  homes,  snug 
and  cosey,  and  so  cobwebbed  with  vines  snowed  thick 
with  roses  that  the  doors  and  windows  were  wholly 
hidden  from  sight  —  sign  that  these  were  deserted 
homes,  forsaken  years  ago  by  defeated  and  disap 
pointed  families  who  could  neither  sell  them  nor  give 


104  The  $30;000  Bequest 

them  away.  Now  and  then,  half  an  hour  apart,  one 
came  across  solitary  log  cabins  of  the  earliest  mining 
days,  built  by  the  first  gold-miners,  the  predecessors 
of  the  cottage-builders.  In  some  few  cases  these 
cabins  were  still  occupied;  and  when  this  was  so,  you 
could  depend  upon  it  that  the  occupant  was  the  very 
pioneer  who  had  built  the  cabin;  and  you  could  de 
pend  on  another  thing,  too — that  he  was  there  be 
cause  he  had  once  had  his  opportunity  to  go  home  to 
the  States  rich,  and  had  not  done  it;  had  later  lost 
his  wealth,  and  had  then  in  his  humiliation  resolved 
to  sever  all  communication  with  his  home  relatives 
and  friends,  and  be  to  them  thenceforth  as  one  dead. 
Round  about  California  in  that  day  were  scattered  a 
host  of  these  living  dead  men — pride-smitten  poor 
fellows,  grizzled  and  old  at  forty,  whose  secret 
thoughts  were  made  all  of  regrets  and  longings — re 
grets  for  their  wasted  lives,  and  longings  to  be  out  of 
the  struggle  and  done  with  it  all. 

It  was  a  lonesome  land!  Not  a  sound  in  all  those 
peaceful  expanses  of  grass  and  woods  but  the  drowsy 
hum  of  insects ;  no  glimpse  of  man  or  beast ;  nothing 
to  keep  up  your  spirits  and  make  you 'glad  to  be 
alive.  And  so,  at  last,  in  the  early  part  of  the  after 
noon,  when  I  caught  sight  of  a  human  creature,  I 
felt  a  most  grateful  uplift.  This  person  was  a  man 
about  forty-five  years  old,  and  he  was  standing  at 
the  gate  of  one  of  those  cosey  little  rose-clad  cottages 
of  the  sort  already  referred  to.  However,  this  one 
hadn't  a  deserted  look ;  it  had  the  look  of  being  lived 


The  Californian's  Tale  105 

in  and  petted  and  cared  for  and  looked  after;  and  so 
had  its  front  yard,  which  was  a  garden  of  flowers, 
abundant,  gay,  and  flourishing.  I  was  invited  in,  of 
course,  and  required  to  make  myself  at  home — it  was 
the  custom  of  the  country. 

It  was  delightful  to  be  in  such  a  place,  after  long 
weeks  of  daily  and  nightly  familiarity  with  miners' 
cabins  —  with  all  which  this  implies  of  dirt  floor, 
never-made  beds,  tin  plates  and  cups,  bacon  and 
beans  and  black  coffee,  and  nothing  of  ornament  but 
war  pictures  from  the  Eastern  illustrated  papers 
tacked  to  the  log  walls.  That  was  all  hard,  cheer 
less,  materialistic  desolation,  but  here  was  a  nest 
which  had  aspects  to  rest  the  tired  eye  and  refresh 
that  something  in  one's  nature  which,  after  long 
fasting,  recognizes,  when  confronted  by  the  belong 
ings  of  art,  howsoever  cheap  and  modest  they  may 
be,  that  it  has  unconsciously  been  famishing  and 
now  has  found  nourishment.  I  could  not  have  be 
lieved  that  a  rag  carpet  could  feast  me  so,  and  so 
content  me ;  or  that  there  could  be  such  solace  to  the 
soul  in  wall-paper  and  framed  lithographs,  and 
bright-colored  tidies  and  lamp-mats,  and  Windsor 
chairs,  and  varnished  whatnots,  with  sea-shells  and 
books  and  china  vases  on  them,  and  the  score  of 
little  unclassifiable  tricks  and  touches  that  a  wom 
an's  hand  distributes  about  a  home,  which  one  sees 
without  knowing  he  sees  them,  yet  would  miss  in  a 
moment  if  they  were  taken  away.  The  delight  that 
was  in  my  heart  showed  in  my  face,  and  the  man 


106  The  $30,000  Bequest 

saw  it  and  was  pleased ;  saw  it  so  plainly  that  he  an 
swered  it  as  if  it  had  been  spoken. 

"All  her  work,"  he  said,  caressingly;  "she  did  it 
all  herself — every  bit,"  and  he  took  the  room  in  with 
a  glance  which  was  full  of  affectionate  worship.  One 
of  those  soft  Japanese  fabrics  with  which  women 
drape  with  careful  negligence  the  upper  part  of  a 
picture-frame  was  out  of  adjustment.  He  noticed 
it,  and  rearranged  it  with  cautious  pains,  stepping 
back  several  times  to  gauge  the  effect  before  he  got 
it  to  suit  him.  Then  he  gave  it  a  light  finishing  pat 
or  two  with  his  hand,  and  said:  "She  always  does 
that.  You  can't  tell  just  what  it  lacks,  but  it  does 
lack  something  until  you've  done  that — you  can  see 
it  yourself  after  it's  done,  but  that  is  all  you  know; 
you  can't  find  out  the  law  of  it.  It's  like  the  finish 
ing  pats  a  mother  gives  the  child's  hair  after  she's 
got  it  combed  and  brushed,  I  reckon.  I've  seen  her 
fix  all  these  things  so  much  that  I  can  do  them  all 
just  her  way,  though  I  don't  know  the  law  of  any  of 
them.  But  she  knows  the  law.  She  knows  the 
why  and  the  how  both;  but  I  don't  know  the  why;  I 
only  know  the  how." 

He  took  me  into  a  bedroom  so  that  I  might  wash 
my  hands;  such  a  bedroom  as  I  had  not  seen  for 
years:  white  counterpane,  white  pillows,  carpeted 
floor,  papered  walls,  pictures,  dressing-table,  with 
mirror  and  pin-cushion  and  dainty  toilet  things;  and 
in  the  corner  a  wash-stand,  with  real  china-ware 
bowl  and  pitcher,  and  with  soap  in  a  china  dish,  and 


The  Californian's  Tale  107 

on  a  rack  more  than  a  dozen  towels — towels  too 
clean  and  white  for  one  out  of  practice  to  use  without 
some  vague  sense  of  profanation.  So  my  face  spoke 
again,  and  he  answered  with  gratified  words: 

"All  her  work;  she  did  it  all  herself — every  bit. 
Nothing  here  that  hasn't  felt  the  touch  of  her  hand. 
Now  you  would  think —  But  I  mustn't  talk  so 
much." 

By  this  time  I  was  wiping  my  hands  and  glancing 
from  detail  to  detail  of  the  room's  belongings,  as  one 
is  apt  to  do  when  he  is  in  a  new  place,  where  every 
thing  he  sees  is  a  comfort  to  his  eye  and  his  spirit; 
and  I  became  conscious,  in  one  of  those  unaccount 
able  ways,  you  know,  that  there  was  something  there 
somewhere  that  the  man  wanted  me  to  discover  for 
myself.  I  knew  it  perfectly,  and  I  knew  he  was  try 
ing  to  help  me  by  furtive  indications  with  his  eye,  so 
I  tried  hard  to  get  on  the  right  track,  being  eager  to 
gratify  him.  I  failed  several  times,  as  I  could  see 
out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  without  being  told;  but 
at  last  I  knew  I  must  be  looking  straight  at  the 
thing — knew  it  from  the  pleasure  issuing  in  invisible 
waves  from  him.  He  broke  into  a  happy  laugh,  and 
rubbed  his  hands  together,  and  cried  out: 

"That's  it!  You've  found  it.  I  knew  you  would. 
It's  her  picture." 

I  went  to  the  little  black-walnut  bracket  on  the 
farther  wall,  and  did  find  there  what  I  had  not  yet 
noticed  —  a  daguerreotype-case.  It  contained  the 
sweetest  girlish  face,  and  the  most  beautiful,  as  it 


io8  The  $30,000  Bequest 

seemed  to  me,  that  I  had  ever  seen.  The  man  drank 
the  admiration  from  my  face,  and  was  fully  satisfied. 

"Nineteen  her  last  birthday,"  he  said,  as  he  put 
the  picture  back;  "and  that  was  the  day  we  were 
married.  When  you  see  her — ah,  just  wait  till  you 
see  her!" 

"Where  is  she?     When  will  she  be  in?" 

"Oh,  she's  away  now.  She's  gone  to  see  her  peo 
ple.  They  live  forty  or  fifty  miles  from  here.  She's 
been  gone  two  weeks  to-day." 

"When  do  you  expect  her  back?" 

"This  is  Wednesday.  She'll  be  back  Saturday,  in 
the  evening — about  nine  o'clock,  likely." 

I  felt  a  sharp  sense  of  disappointment. 

"I'm  sorry,  because  I'll  be  gone  then,"  I  said,  re 
gretfully. 

"Gone?  No — why  should  you  go?  Don't  go. 
She'll  be  so  disappointed." 

She  would  be  disappointed — that  beautiful  creat 
ure!  If  she  had  said  the  words  herself  they  could 
hardly  have  blessed  me  more.  I  was  feeling  a  deep, 
strong  longing  to  see  her — a  longing  so  supplicating, 
so  insistent,  that  it  made  me  afraid.  I  said  to  my 
self:  "I  will  go  straight  away  from  this  place,  for  my 
peace  of  mind's  sake." 

"You  see,  she  likes  to  have  people  come  and  stop 
with  us — people  who  know  things,  and  can  talk — 
people  like  you.  She  delights  in  it;  for  she  knows — 
oh,  she  knows  nearly  everything  herself,  and  can 
talk,  oh,  like  a  bird — and  the  books  she  reads,  why, 


The  Californian's  Tale  109 

you   would   be   astonished.     Don't   go;   it's   only   a 
little  while,  you  know,  and  she'll  be  so  disappointed." 

I  heard  the  words,  but  hardly  noticed  them,  I  was 
so  deep  in  my  thinkings  and  strugglings.  He  left 
me,  but  I  didn't  know  it.  Presently  he  was  back, 
with  the  picture-case  in  his  hand,  and  he  held  it  open 
before  me  and  said: 

"There,  now,  tell  her  to  her  face  you  could  have 
stayed  to  see  her,  and  you  wouldn't." 

That  second  glimpse  broke  down  my  good  resolu 
tion.  I  would  stay  and  take  the  risk.  That  night 
we  smoked  the  tranquil  pipe,  and  talked  till  late 
about  various  things,  but  mainly  about  her;  and  cer 
tainly  I  had  had  no  such  pleasant  and  restful  time 
for  many  a  day.  The  Thursday  followed  and  slipped 
comfortably  away.  Towards  twilight  a  big  miner  from 
three  miles  away  came — one  of  the  grizzled,  stranded 
pioneers — and  gave  us  warm  salutation,  clothed  in 
grave  and  sober  speech.  Then  he  said: 

"I  only  just  dropped  over  to  ask  about  the  little 
madam,  and  when  is  she  coming  home.  Any  news 
from  her?" 

"Oh  yes,  a  letter.  Would  you  like  to  hear  it 
Tom?" 

"Well,  I  should  think  I  would,  if  you  don't  mind, 
Henry!" 

Henry  got  the  letter  out  of  his  wallet,  and  said  he 
would  skip  some  of  the  private  phrases,  if  we  were 
willing;  then  he  went  on  and  read  the  bulk  of  it — a 
loving,  sedate,  and  altogether  charming  and  gracious 


no  The  $30,000  Bequest 

piece  of  handiwork,  with  a  postscript  full  of  affection 
ate  regards  and  messages  to  Tom,  and  Joe,  and 
Charley,  and  other  close  friends  and  neighbors. 

As  the  reader  finished,  he  glanced  at  Tom,  and 
cried  out: 

"Oho,  you're  at  it  again!  Take  your  hands 
away,  and  let  me  see  your  eyes.  You  always  do 
that  when  I  read  a  letter  from  her.  I  will  write  and 
tell  her." 

"Oh  no,  you  mustn't,  Henry.  I'm  getting  old, 
you  know,  and  any  little  disappointment  makes  me 
want  to  cry.  I  thought  she'd  be  here  herself,  and 
now  you've  got  only  a  letter." 

"Well,  now,  what  put  that  in  your  head?  I 
thought  everybody  knew  she  wasn't  coming  till 
Saturday." 

"Saturday!  Why,  come  to  think,  I  did  know  it. 
I  wonder  what's  the  matter  with  me  lately?  Cer 
tainly  I  knew  it.  Ain't  we  all  getting  ready  for  her  ? 
Well,  I  must  be  going  now.  But  I'll  be  on  hand 
when  she  comes,  old  man!" 

Late  Friday  afternoon  another  gray  veteran 
tramped  over  from  his  cabin  a  mile  or  so  away,  and 
said  the  boys  wanted  to  have  a  little  gayety  and  a 
good  time  Saturday  night,  if  Henry  thought  she 
wouldn't  be  too  tired  after  her  journey  to  be  kept  up. 

"Tired?  She  tired!  Oh,  hear  the  man!  Joe, 
you  know  she'd  sit  up  six  weeks  to  please  any  one  of 
you!" 

When  Joe  heard  that  there  was  a  letter,  he  asked 


The  Californian's  Tale  1 1 1 

to  have  it  read,  and  the  loving  messages  in  it  for  him 
broke  the  old  fellow  all  up ;  but  he  said  he  was  such 
an  old  wreck  that  that  would. happen  to  him  if  she 
only  just  mentioned  his  name.  "Lord,  we  miss  her 
so!"  he  said. 

Saturday  afternoon  I  found  I  was  taking  out  my 
watch  pretty  often,  Henry  noticed  it,  and  said, 
with  a  startled  look: 

"You  don't  think  she  ought  to  be  here  so  soon,  do 
you?" 

I  felt  caught,  and  a  little  embarrassed ;  but  •  I 
laughed,  and  said  it  was  a  habit  of  mine  when  I  was 
in  a  state  of  expectancy.  But  he  didn't  seem  quite 
satisfied;  and  from  that  time  on  he  began  to  show 
uneasiness.  Four  times  he  walked  me  up  the  road 
to  a  point  whence  we  could  see  a  long  distance ;  and 
there  he  would  stand,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  and  looking.  Several  times  he  said: 

"I'm  getting  worried,  I'm  getting  right  down  wor 
ried.  I  know  she's  not  due  till  about  nine  o'clock, 
and  yet  something  seems  to  be  trying  to  warn  me 
that  something's  happened.  You  don't  think  any 
thing  has  happened,  do  you?" 

I  began  to  get  pretty  thoroughly  ashamed  of  him 
for  his  childishness;  and  at  last,  when  he  repeated 
that  imploring  question  still  another  time,  I  lost  my 
patience  for  the  moment,  and  spoke  pretty  brutally 
to  him.  It  seemed  to  shrivel  him  up  and  cow  him; 
and  he  looked  so  wounded  and  so  humble  after  that, 
that  I  detested  myself  for  having  done  the  cruel  and 


112  The  $30,000  Bequest 

unnecessary  thing.  And  so  I  was  glad  when  Charley, 
another  veteran,  arrived  towards  the  edge  of  the 
evening,  and  nestled  up  to  Henry  to  hear  the  letter 
read,  and  talked  over  the  preparations  for  the  wel 
come.  Charley  fetched  out  one  hearty  speech  after 
another,  and  did  his  best  to  drive  away  his  friend's 
bodings  and  apprehensions. 

"Anything  happened  to  her?  Henry,  that's  pure 
nonsense.  There  isn't  anything  going  to  happen  to 
her;  just  make  your  mind  easy  as  to  that.  What 
did  the  letter  say?  Said  she  was  well,  didn't  it? 
And  said  she'd  be  here  by  nine  o'clock,  didn't  it? 
Did  you  ever  know  her  to  fail  of  her  word?  Why, 
you  know  you  never  did.  Well,  then,  don't  you 
fret;  she'll  be  here,  and  that's  absolutely  certain,  and 
as  sure  as  you  are  born.  Come,  now,  let's  get  to 
decorating — not  much  time  left." 

Pretty  soon  Tom  and  Joe  arrived,  and  then  all 
hands  set  about  adorning  the  house  with  flowers. 
Towards  nine  the  three  miners  said  that  as  they  had 
brought  their  instruments  they  might  as  well  tune 
up,  for  the  boys  and  girls  would  soon  be  arriving 
now,  and  hungry  for  a  good,  old-fashioned  break 
down.  A  fiddle,  a  banjo,  and  a  clarinet — these  were 
the  instruments.  The  trio  took  their  places  side  by 
side,  and  began  to  play  some  rattling  dance-music, 
and  beat  time  with  their  big  boots. 

It  was  getting  very  close  to  nine.  Henry  was 
standing  in  the  door  with  his  eyes  directed  up  the 
road,  his  body  swaying  to  the  torture  of  his  mental 


The  Californian's  Tale  113 

distress.  He  had  been  made  to  drink  his  wife's 
health  and  safety  several  times,  and  now  Tom 
shouted : 

"All  hands  stand  by!  One  more  drink,  and  she's 
here!" 

Joe  brought  the  glasses  on  a  waiter,  and  served 
the  party.  I  reached  for  one  of  the  two  remaining 
glasses,  but  Joe  growled,  under  his  breath: 

"Drop  that!     Take  the  other." 

Which  I  did.  Henry  was  served  last.  He  had 
hardly  swallowed  his  drink  when  the  clock  began  to 
strike.  He  listened  till  it  finished,  his  face  growing 
pale  and  paler;  then  he  said: 

"Boys,  I'm  sick  with  fear.  Help  me — I  want  to 
lie  down!" 

They  helped  him  to  the  sofa.  He  began  to  nestle 
and  drowse,  but  presently  spoke  like  one  talking  in 
his  sleep,  and  said:  "Did  I  hear  horses'  feet?  Have 
they  come?" 

One  of  the  veterans  answered,  close  to  his  ear:  "It 
was  Jimmy  Parrish  come  to  say  the  party  got  de 
layed,  but  they're  right  up  the  road  a  piece,  and 
coming  along.  Her  horse  is  lame,  but  she'll  be  here 
in  half  an  hour." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  thankful  nothing  has  happened!" 

He  was  asleep  almost  before  the  words  were  out  of 
his  mouth.  In  a  moment  those  handy  men  had  his 
clothes  off,  and  had  tucked  him  into  his  bed  in  the 
chamber  where  I  had  washed  my  hands.  They 
closed  the  door  and  came  back.  Then  they  seemed 


H4  The  $30,000  Bequest 

preparing  to  leave;  but  I  said:  "Please  don't  go,  gen 
tlemen.     She  won't  know  me;  I  am  a  stranger." 
They  glanced  at  each  other.     Then  Joe  said: 
"She?     Poor    thing,    she's    been    dead    nineteen 
years!" 
"Dead?" 

"That  or  worse.  She  went  to  see  her  folks  half  a 
year  after  she  was  married,  and  on  her  way  back,  on 
a  Saturday  evening,  the  Indians  captured  her  within 
five  miles  of  this  place,  and  she's  never  been  heard  of 
since." 

"And  he  lost  his  mind  in  consequence?" 
"Never  has  been  sane  an  hour  since.  But  he  only 
gets  bad  when  that  time  of  the  year  comes  round. 
Then  we  begin  to  drop  in  here,  three  days  before 
she's  due,  to  encourage  him  up,  and  ask  if  he's  heard 
from  her,  and  Saturday  we  all  come  and  fix  up  the 
house  with  flowers,  and  get  everything  ready  for  a 
dance.  We've  done  it  every  year  for  nineteen  years. 
The  first  Saturday  there  was  twenty -seven  of  us, 
without  counting  the  girls;  there's  only  three  of  us 
now,  and  the  girls  are  all  gone.  We  drug  him  to 
sleep,  or  he  would  go  wild;  then  he's  all  right  for  an 
other  year — thinks  she's  with  him  till  the  last  three 
or  four  days  come  round ;  then  he  begins  to  look  for 
her,  and  gets  out  his  poor  old  letter,  and  we  come 
and  ask  him  to  read  it  to  us.  Lord,  she  was  a 
darling!" 


A  HELPLESS   SITUATION 


ONCE  or  twice  a  year  I  get  a  letter  of  a  certain 
pattern,  a  pattern  that  never  materially  changes, 
in  form  and  substance,  yet  I  cannot  get  used  to  that 
letter — it  always  astonishes  me.  It  affects  me  as  the 
locomotive  always  affects  me:  I  say  to  myself,  "I 
have  seen  you  a  thousand  times,  you  always  look 
the  same  way,  yet  you  are  always  a  wonder,  and  you 
are  always  impossible;  to  contrive  you  is  clearly  be 
yond  human  genius — you  can't  exist,  you  don't  exist, 
yet  here  you  are!" 

I  have  a  letter  of  that  kind  by  me,  a  very  old  one. 
I  yearn  to  print  it,  and  where  is  the  harm?  The 
writer  of  it  is  dead  years  ago,  no  doubt,  and  if  I  con 
ceal  her  name  and  address — her  this-world  address — 
I  am  sure  her  shade  will  not  mind.  And  with  it  I 
wish  to  print  the  answer  which  I  wrote  at  the  time 
but  probably  did  not  send.  If  it  went — which  is  not 
likely — it  went  in  the  form  of  a  copy,  for  I  find  the 
original  still  here,  pigeon-holed  with  the  said  letter. 
To  that  kind  of  letters  we  all  write  answers  which  we 
do  not  send,  fearing  to  hurt  where  we  have  no  desire 


n6  The  $30,000  Bequest 

to  hurt;  I  have  done  it  many  a  time,  and  this  is 
doubtless  a  case  of  the  sort. 


THE   LETTER 

X .,  CALIFORNIA,  June  j,  1879. 

Mr.  S.  L.  Clemens,  Hartford,  Conn.: 

DEAR  SIR, — You  will  doubtless  be  surprised  to 
know  who  has  presumed  to  write  and  ask  a  favor  of 
you.  Let  your  memory  go  back  to  your  days  in  the 
Humboldt  mines — '62-63.  You  will  remember,  you 
and  Clagett  and  Oliver  and  the  old  blacksmith 
Tillou  lived  in  a  lean-to  which  was  half-way  up  the 
gulch,  and  there  were  six  log  cabins  in  the  camp — 
strung  pretty  well  separated  up  the  gulch  from  its 
mouth  at  the  desert  to  where  the  last  claim  was,  at 
the  divide.  The  lean-to  you  lived  in  was  the  one 
with  a  canvas  roof  that  the  cow  fell  down  through 
one  night,  as  told  about  by  you  in  Roughing  It — my 
uncle  Simmons  remembers  it  very  well.  He  lived  in 
the  principal  cabin,  half-way  up  the  divide,  along 
with  Dixon  and  Parker  and  Smith.  It  had  two 
rooms,  one  for  kitchen  and  the  other  for  bunks,  and 
was  the  only  one  that  had.  You  and  your  party 
were  there  on  the  great  night,  the  time  they  had 
dried-apple-pie,  Uncle  Simmons  often  speaks  of  it. 
It  seems  curious  that  dried -apple-pie  should  have 
seemed  such  a  great  thing,  but  it  was,  and  it  shows 
how  far  Humboldt  was  out  of  the  world  and  difficult 
to  get  to,  and  how  slim  the  regular  bill  of  fare  was. 


A  Helpless  Situation  117 

Sixteen  years  ago — it  is  a  long  time.  I  was  a  little 
girl  then,  only  fourteen.  I  never  saw  you,  I  lived  in 
Washoe.  But  Uncle  Simmons  ran  across  you  every 
now  and  then,  all  during  those  weeks  that  you  and 
party  were  there  working  your  claim  which  was  like 
the  rest.  The  camp  played  out  long  and  long  ago, 
there  wasn't  silver  enough  in  it  to  make  a  button. 
You  never  saw  my  husband,  but  he  was  there  after 
you  left,  and  lived  in  that  very  lean-to,  a  bachelor  then 
but  married  to  me  now.  He  often  wishes  there  had 
been  a  photographer  there  in  those  days,  he  would 
have  taken  the  lean-to.  He  got  hurt  in  the  old  Hal 
Clayton  claim  that  was  abandoned  like  the  others, 
putting  in  a  blast  and  not  climbing  out  quick  enough, 
though  he  scrambled  the  best  he  could.  It  landed 
him  clear  down  on  the  trail  and  hit  a  Piute.  For 
weeks  they  thought  he  would  not  get  over  it  but  he 
did,  and  is  all  right,  now.  Has  been  ever  since. 
This  is  a  long  introduction  but  it  is  the  only  way  I 
can  make  myself  known.  The  favor  I  ask  I  feel  as 
sured  your  generous  heart  will  grant:  Give  me  some 
advice  about  a  book  I  have  written.  I  do  not  claim 
anything  for  it  only  it  is  mostly  true  and  as  inter 
esting  as  most  of  the  books  of  the  times.  I  am 
unknown  in  the  literary  world  and  you  know  what 
that  means  unless  one  has  some  one  of  influence 
(like  yourself)  to  help  you  by  speaking  a  good 
word  for  you.  I  would  like  to  place  the  book 
on  royalty  basis  plan  with  any  one  you  would  sug 
gest. 


n8  The  $30,000  Bequest 

This  is  a  secret  from  my  husband  and  family.  I 
intend  it  as  a  surprise  in  case  I  get  it  published. 

Feeling  you  will  take  an  interest  in  this  and  if  pos 
sible  write  me  a  letter  to  some  publisher,  or,  better 
still,  if  you  could  see  them  for  me  and  then  let  me 
hear. 

I  appeal  to  you  to  grant  me  this  favor.  With 
deepest  gratitude  I  thank  you  for  your  attention. 

One  knows,  without  inquiring,  that  the  twin  of 
that  embarrassing  letter  is  forever  and  ever  flying  in 
this  and  that  and  the  other  direction  across  the  con 
tinent  in  the  mails,  daily,  nightly,  hourly,  unceas 
ingly,  unrestingly.  It  goes  to  every  well-known 
merchant,  and  railway  official,  and  manufacturer, 
and  capitalist,  and  Mayor,  and  Congressman,  and 
Governor,  and  editor,  and  publisher,  and  author,  and 
broker,  and  banker — in  a  word,  to  every  person  who 
is  supposed  to  have  ''influence."  It  always  follows 
the  one  pattern:  "You  do  not  know  me,  but  you  once 
kneiv  a  relative  of  mine,'"  etc.,  etc.  We  should  all 
like  to  help  the  applicants,  we  should  all  be  glad  to 
do  it,  we  should  all  like  to  return  the  sort  of  answer 
that  is  desired,  but —  Well,  there  is  not  a  thing  we 
can  do  that  would  be  a  help,  for  not  in  any  instance 
does  that  letter  ever  come  from  any  one  who  can  be 
helped.  The  struggler  whom  you  could  help  does 
his  own  helping ;  it  would  not  occur  to  him  to  apply 
to  you,  a  stranger.  He  has  talent  and  knows  it,  and 
he  goes  into  his  fight  eagerly  and  with  energy  and 


A  Helpless  Situation  119 

determination  —  all  alone,  preferring  to  be  alone. 
That  pathetic  letter  which  comes  to  you  from  the 
incapable,  the  unhelpable — how  do  you  who  are 
familiar  with  it  answer  it?  What  do  you  find  to 
say?  You  do  not  want  to  inflict  a  wound;  you 
hunt  ways  to  avoid  that.  What  do  you  find  ?  How 
do  you  get  out  of  your  hard  place  with  a  contented 
conscience?  Do  you  try  to  explain?  The  old  reply 
of  mine  to  such  a  letter  shows  that  I  tried  that  once. 
Was  I  satisfied  with  the  result?  Possibly;  and  pos 
sibly  not;  probably  not;  almost  certainly  not.  I 
have  long  ago  forgotten  all  about  it.  But,  anyway, 
I  append  my  effort: 

THE    REPLY 

I  know  Mr.  H.,  and  I  will  go  to  him,  dear  madam, 
if  upon  reflection  you  find  you  still  desire  it.  There 
will  be  a  conversation.  I  know  the  form  it  will  take. 
It  will  be  like  this: 

Mr.  H.  How  do  her  books  strike  you? 

Mr.  Clemens.  I  am  not  acquainted  with  them. 

H.  Who  has  been  her  publisher  ? 

C.  I  don't  know. 

H.  She  has  one,  I  suppose? 

C.  I— I  think  not. 

H.  Ah.     You  think  this  is  her  first  book? 

C.  Yes — I  suppose  so.     I  think  so. 

H.  What  is  it  about  ?     What  is  the  character  of  it  ? 


120  The  $30,000  Bequest 

C.  I  believe  I  do  not  know. 

H.  Have  you  seen  it  ? 

C.  Well— no,  I  haven't. 

H.  Ah-h.     How  long  have  you  known  her? 

C.  I  don't  know  her. 

H.  Don't  know  her  ? 

C.  No. 

H.  Ah-h,     How  did  you  come  to  be  interested  in 
her  book,  then  ? 

C.  Well,  she — she  wrote  and  asked  me  to  find  a 
publisher  for  her,  and  mentioned  you. 

H.  Why  should  she  apply  to  you  instead  of  to  me  ? 

C.  She  wished  me  to  use  my  influence. 

H.  Dear  me,  what  has  influence  to  do  with  such  a 
matter  ? 

C.  Well,  I  think  she  thought  you  would  be  more 
likely  to  examine  her  book  if  you  were  influenced. 

H.  Why,  what  we  are  here  for  is  to  examine  books 
— anybody's  book  that  comes  along.  It's  our  busi 
ness.  Why  should  we  turn  away  a  book  unexam- 
ined  because  it's  a  stranger's?  It  would  be  foolish. 
No  publisher  does  it.  On  what  ground  did  she  re 
quest  your  influence,  since  you  do  not  know  her? 
She  must  have  thought  you  knew  her  literature  and 
could  speak  for  it.  Is  that  it  ? 
C.  No;  she  knew  I  didn't. 

H.  Well,  what  then?     She  had  a  reason  of  some 
sort  for  believing  you  competent  to  recommend  her 
literature,  and  also  under  obligations  to  do  it  ? 
C.  Yes,  I — I  knew  her  uncle. 


A  Helpless  Situation  121 

H.  Knew  her  uncle? 

C.  Yes. 

H.  Upon  my  word!  So,  you  knew  her  uncle;  her 
uncle  knows  her  literature;  he  endorses  it  to  you; 
the  chain  is  complete,  nothing  further  needed;  you 
are  satisfied,  and  therefore — 

C.  No,  that  isn't  all,  there  are  other  ties.  I  knew 
the  cabin  her  uncle  lived  in,  in  the  mines;  I  knew  his 
partners,  too;  also  I  came  near  knowdng  her  husband 
before  she  married  him,  and  I  did  know  the  aban 
doned  shaft  where  a  premature  blast  went  off  and  he 
went  flying  through  the  air  and  clear  down  to  the 
trail  and  hit  an  Indian  in  the  back  with  almost  fatal 
consequences. 

H.  To  him,  or  to  the  Indian? 

C.  She  didn't  say  which  it  was. 

H.  (With  a  sigh.)  It  certainly  beats  the  band! 
You  don't  know  her,  you  don't  know  her  literature, 
you  don't  know  who  got  hurt  when  the  blast  went 
off,  you  don't  know  a  single  thing  for  us  to  build  an 
estimate  of  her  book  upon,  so  far  as  I — 

C.  I  knew  her  uncle.  You  are  forgetting  her 
uncle. 

H.  Oh,  what  use  is  he?  Did  you  know  him  long? 
How  long  was  it  ? 

C.  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  really  knew  him,  but 
I  must  have  met  him,  anyway.  I  think  it  was  that 
way;  you  can't  tell  about  these  things,  you  know, 
except  when  they  are  recent. 

H.  Recent?     When  was  all  this? 


122  The  $30,000  Bequest 

C.  Sixteen  years  ago. 

H.  What  a  basis  to  judge  a  book  upon!  At  first 
you  said  you  knew  him,  and  now  you  don't  know 
whether  you  did  or  not. 

C.  Oh  yes,  I  knew  him;  anyway,  I  think  I  thought 
I  did;  I'm  perfectly  certain  of  it. 

H.  What  makes  you  think  you  thought  you  knew 
him? 

C.  Why,  she  says  I  did,  herself. 

H.  She  says  so! 

C.  Yes,  she  does,  and  I  did  know  him,  too,  though 
I  don't  remember  it  now. 

H.  Come — how  can  you  know  it  when  you  don't 
remember  it. 

C.  I  don't  know.  That  is,  I  don't  know  the 
process,  but  I  do  know  lots  of  things  that  I  don't  re 
member,  and  remember  lots  of  things  that  I  don't 
know.  It's  so  with  every  educated  person. 

H.  (After  a  pause.)  Is  your  time  valuable? 

C.  No — well,  not  very. 

H.  Mine  is. 

So  I  came  away  then,  because  he  was  looking  tired. 
Overwork,  I  reckon;  I  never  do  that;  I  have  seen  the- 
evil  effects  of  it.  My  mother  was  always  afraid  I 
would  overwork  myself,  but  I  never  did. 

Dear  madam,  you  see  how  it  would  happen  if  I 
went  there.  He  would  ask  me  those  questions,  and 
I  would  try  to  answer  them  to  suit  him,  and  he 
would  hunt  me  here  and  there  and  yonder  and  get 
me  embarrassed  more  and  more  all  the  time,  and  at 


A  Helpless  Situation  123 

last  he  would  look  tired  on  account  of  overwork,  and 
there  it  would  end  and  nothing  done.  I  wish  I 
could  be  useful  to  you,  but,  you  see,  they  do  not  care 
for  uncles  or  any  of  those  things;  it  doesn't  move 
them,  it  doesn't  have  the  least  effect,  they  don't  care 
for  anything  but  the  literature  itself,  and  they  as 
good  as  despise  influence.  But  they  do  care  for 
books,  and  are  eager  to  get  them  and  examine  them, 
no  matter  whence  they  come,  nor  from  whose  pen. 
If  you  will  send  yours  to  a  publisher — any  publisher 
— he  will  certainly  examine  it,  I  can  assure  you  of 
that. 


A  TELEPHONIC    CONVERSATION 


that  a  conversation  by  telephone — 
you  are  simply  sitting  by  and  not  taking 
any  part  in  that  conversation — is  one  of  the  solemn- 
est  curiosities  of  this  modern  life.  Yesterday  I  was 
writing  a  deep  article  on  a  sublime  philosophical  sub 
ject  while  such  a  conversation  was  going  on  in  the 
room.  I  notice  that  one  can  always  write  best  when 
somebody  is  talking  through  a  telephone  close  by. 
Well,  the  thing  began  in  this  way.  A  member  of 
our  household  came  in  and  asked  me  to  have  our 
house  put  into  communication  with  Mr.  Bagley's, 
down-town.  I  have  observed,  in  many  cities,  that 
the  sex  always  shrink  from  calling  up  the  central 
office  themselves.  I  don't  know  why,  but  they  do. 
So  I  touched  the  bell,  and  this  talk  ensued: 

Central  Office.      (Gruffly. )     Hello ! 

7.  Is  it  the  Central  Office  ? 

C.  O.  Of  course  it  is.     What  do  you  want  ? 

/.  Will  you  switch  me  on  to  the  Bagleys,  please  ? 

C.  O.  All  right.    Just  keep  your  ear  to  the  telephone. 

Then  I  heard,  k-look,  k-look,  k'look — klook-klook- 
klook-look-look !  then  a  horrible  "gritting"  of  teeth, 


A  Telephonic  Conversation  125 

and  finally  a  piping  female  voice:  Y-e-s  ?  (Rising  in 
flection.)  Did  you  wish  to  speak  to  me  ? 

Without  answering,  I  handed  the  telephone  to  the 
applicant,  and  sat  down.  Then  followed  that  queer 
est  of  all  the  queer  things  in  this  world — a  conver 
sation  with  only  one  end  to  it.  You  hear  questions 
asked ;  you  don't  hear  the  answer.  You  hear  invita 
tions  given;  you  hear  no  thanks  in  return.  You 
have  listening  pauses  of  dead  silence,  followed  by 
apparently  irrelevant  and  unjustifiable  exclamations 
of  glad  surprise  or  sorrow  or  dismay.  You  can't 
make  head  or  tail  of  the  talk,  because  you  never 
hear  anything  that  the  person  at  the  other  end  of 
the  wire  says.  Well,  I  heard  the  following  remark 
able  series  of  observations,  all  from  the  one  tongue, 
and  all  shouted — for  you  can't  ever  persuade  the  sex 
to  speak  gently  into  a  telephone: 

Yes  ?     Why,  how  did  that  happen  ? 

Pause. 

What  did  you  say  ? 

Pause. 

Oh  no,  I  don't  think  it  was. 

Pause. 

No  !  Oh  no,  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  meant,  put  it  in 
while  it  is  still  boiling — or  just  before  it  comes  to  a  boil. 

Pause. 

WHAT? 

Pause. 

I  turned  it  over  with  a  backstitch  on  the  selvage 
edge. 


126  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Pause. 

Yes,  I  like  that  way,  too;  but  I  think  it's  better 
to  baste  it  on  with  Valenciennes  or  bombazine,  or 
something  of  that  sort.  It  gives  it  such  an  air — 
and  attracts  so  much  notice. 

Pause. 

It's  forty -ninth  Deuteronomy,  sixty -fourth  to 
ninety-seventh  inclusive.  I  think  we  ought  all  to 
read  it  often. 

Pause. 

Perhaps  so ;  I  generally  use  a  hair-pin. 

Pause. 

What  did  you  say?  (Aside.)  Children,  do  be 
quiet! 

Pause. 

Oh  !  B  flat  f  Dear  me,  I  thought  you  said  it  was 
the  cat! 

Pause. 

Since  when  ? 

Pause. 

Why,  7  never  heard  of  it. 

Pause. 

You  astound  me!     It  seems  utterly  impossible! 

Pause. 

Who  fad? 

Pause. 

Good-ness  gracious! 

Pause. 

Well,  what  is  this  world  coming  to  ?  Was  it  right 
in  church  ? 


A  Telephonic  Conversation  127 

Pause. 

And  was  her  mother  there  ? 

Pause. 

Why,  Mrs.  Bagley,  I  should  have  died  of  humilia 
tion!  What  did  they  do? 

Long  pause. 

I  can't  be  perfectly  sure,  because  I  haven't  the 
notes  by  me ;  but  I  think  it  goes  something  like  this : 
te-rolly-loll-loll,  loll  lolly-loll-loll,  O  tolly-loll-loll-fe*- 
ly-li-i-dol  And  then  repeat,  you  know. 

Pause. 

Yes,  I  think  it  is  very  sweet — and  very  solemn 
and  impressive,  if  you  get  the  andantino  and  the 
pianissimo  right. 

Pause. 

Oh,  gum-drops,  gum-drops!  But  I  never  allow 
them  to  eat  striped  candy.  And  of  course  they 
can't,  till  they  get  their  teeth,  anyway. 

Pause. 

What? 

Pause. 

Oh,  not  in  the  least — go  right  on.  He's  here 
writing — it  doesn't  bother  him. 

Pause. 

Very  well,  I'll  come  if  I  can.  (Aside.)  Dear  me, 
how  it  does  tire  a  person's  arm  to  hold  this  thing  up 
so  long!  I  wish  she'd — 

Pause. 

Oh  no,  not  at  all;  I  like  to  talk — but  I'm  afraid 
I'm  keeping  you  from  your  affairs. 


128  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Pause. 

Visitors  ? 

Pause. 

No,  we  never  use  butter  on  them. 

Pause. 

Yes,  that  is  a  very  good  way;  but  all  the  cook 
books  say  they  are  very  unhealthy  when  they  are 
out  of  season.  And  he  doesn't  like  them,  anyway — 
especially  canned. 

Pause. 

Oh,  I  think  that  is  too  high  for  them;  we  have 
never  paid  over  fifty  cents  a  bunch. 

Pause. 

Must  you  go  ?     Well,  good-bye. 

Pause. 

Yes,  I  think  so.     Good-bye. 

Pause. 

Four  o'clock,  then — I'll  be  ready.     Good-bye. 

Pause.       f 

Thank  you  ever  so  much.     Good-bye. 

Pause. 

Oh,  not  at  all!— just  as  fresh—  Which?  Oh, 
I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  Good-bye. 

(Hangs  up  the  telephone  and  says,  "Oh,  it  does 
tire  a  person's  arm  so!") 

A  man  delivers  a  single  brutal  "Good-bye,"  and 
that  is  the  end  of  it.  Not  so  with  the  gentle  sex — I 
say  it  in  their  praise;  they  cannot  abide  abruptness. 


EDWARD   MILLS   AND   GEORGE    BEN- 
TON;   A  TALE 


THESE  two  were  distantly  related  to  each  other 
—  seventh  cousins,  or  something  of  that  sort. 
While  still  babies  they  became  orphans,  and  were 
adopted  by  the  Brants,  a  childless  couple,  who 
quickly  grew  very  fond  of  them.  The  Brants  were 
always  saying:  "Be  pure,  honest,  sober,  industrious, 
and  considerate  of  others,  and  success  in  life  is  as 
sured."  The  children  heard  this  repeated  some 
thousands  of  times  before  they  understood  it;  they 
could  repeat  it  themselves  long  before  they  could 
say  the  Lord's  Prayer;  it  was  painted  over  the 
nursery  door,  and  was  about  the  first  thing  they 
learned  to  read.  It  was  destined  to  become  the  un 
swerving  rule  of  Edward  Mills 's  life.  Sometimes  the 
Brants  changed  the  wording  a  little,  and  said:  "Be 
pure,  honest,  sober,  industrious,  considerate,  and 
you  will  never  lack  friends." 

Baby  Mills  was  a  comfort  to  everybody  about  him. 
When  he  wanted  candy  and  could  not  have  it,  he 
listened  to  reason,  and  contented  himself  without  it. 
When  Baby  Benton  wanted  candy,  he  cried  for  it 


13°  The  $30,000  Bequest 

until  he  got  it.  Baby  Mills  took  care  of  his  toys; 
Baby  Benton  always  destroyed  his  in  a  very  brief 
time,  and  then  made  himself  so  insistently  disagree 
able  that,  in  order  to  have  peace  in  the  house,  little 
Edward  was  persuaded  to  yield  up  his  playthings  to 
him. 

When  the  children  were  a  little  older,  Georgie  be 
came  a  heavy  expense  in  one  respect:  he  took  no 
care    of    his    clothes;    consequently,    he    shone    fre 
quently  in  new  ones,  which  was  not  the  case  with 
Eddie.     The  boys   grew  apace.     Eddie  was   an   in 
creasing   comfort,   Georgie   an   increasing   solicitude. 
It  was  always  sufficient  to  say,  in  answer  to  Eddie's 
petitions,  "I  would  rather  you  would  not  do  it"— 
meaning    swimming,    skating,    picnicking,    berrying, 
circusing,  and  all  sorts  of  things  which  boys  delight 
in.     But  no  answer  was  sufficient   for   Georgie;  he 
had  to  be  humored  in  his  desires,  or  he  would  carry 
them  with  a  high  hand.     Naturally,  no  boy  got  more 
swimming,  skating,  berrying,  and  so  forth  than  he; 
no  boy  ever  had  a  better  time.     The  good  Brants  did 
not  allow  the  boys  to  play  out  after  nine  in  summer 
evenings;  they  were  sent  to  bed  at  that  hour;  Eddie 
honorably  remained,  but  Georgie  usually  slipped  out 
of  the  window  towards  ten,  and  enjoyed  himself  till 
midnight.     It  seemed  impossible  to  break  Georgie  of 
this  bad  habit,  but  the  Brants  managed  it  at  last  by 
hiring  him,  with  apples  and  marbles,  to  stay  in.     The 
good  Brants  gave  all  their  time  and  attention  to  vain 
endeavors  to  regulate  Georgie;  they  said,  with  grate- 


Edward  Mills  and  George  Benton:  A  Tale    131 

ful  tears  in  their  eyes,  that  Eddie  needed  no  efforts  of 
theirs,  he  was  so  good,  so  considerate,  and  in  all  ways 
so  perfect. 

By-and-by  the  boys  were  big  enough  to  work,  so 
they  were  apprenticed  to  a  trade:  Edward  went  vol 
untarily;  George  was  coaxed  and  bribed.  Edward 
worked  hard  and  faithfully,  and  ceased  to  be  an  ex 
pense  to  the  good  Brants ;  they  praised  him,  so  did 
his  master;  but  George  ran  away,  and  it  cost  Mr. 
Brant  both  money  and  trouble  to  hunt  him  up  and 
get  him  back.  By-and-by  he  ran  away  again — more 
money  and  more  trouble.  He  ran  away  a  third 
time  —  and  stole  a  few  little  things  to  carry  with 
him.  Trouble  and  expense  for  Mr.  Brant  once 
more;  and,  besides,  it  was  with  the  greatest  dif 
ficulty  that  he  succeeded  in  persuading  the  mas 
ter  to  let  the  youth  go  unprosecuted  for  the 
theft. 

Edward  worked  steadily  along,  and  in  time  be 
came  a  full  partner  in  his  master's  business.  George 
did  not  improve;  he  kept  the  loving  hearts  of  his 
aged  benefactors  full  of  trouble,  and  their  hands  full 
of  inventive  activities  to  protect  him  from  ruin. 
Edward,  as  a  boy,  had  interested  himself  in  Sunday- 
schools,  debating  societies,  penny  missionary  affairs, 
anti- tobacco  organizations,  anti  -  profanity  associa 
tions,  and  all  such  things ;  as  a  man,  he  was  a  quiet 
but  steady  and  reliable  helper  in  the  church,  the 
temperance  societies,  and  in  all  movements  looking 
to  the  aiding  and  uplifting  of  men.  This  excited 


IJ2  The  $30,000  Bequest 

no  remark,  attracted  no  attention — for  it  was  his 
"natural  bent." 

Finally,  the  old  people  died.  The  will  testified 
their  loving  pride  in  Edward,  and  left  their  little 
property  to  George — because  he  "needed  it";  where 
as,  "owing  to  a  bountiful  Providence,"  such  was  not 
the  case  with  Edward.  The  property  was  left  to 
George  conditionally:  he  must  buy  out  Edward's 
partner  with  it;  else  it  must  go  to  a  benevolent  or 
ganization  called  the  Prisoner's  Friend  Society.  The 
old  people  left  a  letter,  in  which  they  begged  their 
dear  son  Edward  to  take  their  place  and  watch 
over  George,  and  help  and  shield  him  as  they  had 
done. 

Edward  dutifully  acquiesced,  and  George  became 
his  partner  in  the  business.  He  was  not  a  valuable 
partner:  he  had  been  meddling  with  drink  before;  he 
soon  developed  into  a  constant  tippler  now,  and  his 
flesh  and  eyes  showed  the  fact  unpleasantly.  Ed 
ward  had  been  courting  a  sweet  and  kindly  spirited 
girl  for  some  time.  They  loved  each  other  dearly, 
and —  But  about  this  period  George  began  to 
haunt  her  tearfully  and  imploringly,  and  at  last  she 
went  crying  to  Edward,  and  said  her  high  and  holy 
duty  was  plain  before  her — she  must  not  let  her  own 
selfish  desires  interfere  with  it:  she  must  marry  "poor 
George"  and  "reform  him."  It  would  break  her 
heart,  she  knew  it  would,  and  so  on;  but  duty  was 
duty.  So  she  married  George,  and  Edward's  heart 
came  very  near  breaking,  as  well  as  her  own.  How- 


Edward  Mills  and  George  Benton:  A  Tale    133 

ever,  Edward  recovered,  and  married  another  girl — 
a  very  excellent  one  she  was,  too. 

Children  came  to  both  families.  Mary  did  her 
honest  best  to  reform  her  husband,  but  the  contract 
was  too  large.  George  went  on  drinking,  and  by- 
and-by  he  fell  to  misusing  her  and  the  little  ones 
sadly.  A  great  many  good  people  strove  with 
George — they  were  always  at  it,  in  fact — but  he 
calmly  took  such  efforts  as  his  due  and  their  duty, 
and  did  not  mend  his  ways.  He  added  a  vice,  pres 
ently — that  of  secret  gambling.  He  got  deeply  in 
debt;  he  borrowed  money  on  the  firm's  credit,  as 
quietly  as  he  could,  and  carried  this  system  so  far 
and  so  successfully  that  one  morning  the  sheriff  took 
possession  of  the  establishment,  and  the  two  cousins 
found  themselves  penniless. 

Times  were  hard,  now,  and  they  grew  worse.  Ed 
ward  moved  his  family  into  a  garret,  and  walked  the 
streets  day  and  night,  seeking  work.  He  begged  for 
it,  but  it  was  really  not  to  be  had.  He  was  aston 
ished  to  see  how  soon  his  face  became  unwelcome; 
he  was  astonished  and  hurt  to  see  how  quickly  the 
ancient  interest  which  people  had  had  in  him  faded 
out  and  disappeared.  Still,  he  must  get  work;  so  he 
swallowed  his  chagrin,  and  toiled  on  in  search  of  it. 
At  last  he  got  a  job  of  carrying  bricks  up  a  ladder  in 
a  hod,  and  was  a  grateful  man  in  consequence;  but 
after  that  nobody  knew  him  or  cared  anything  about 
him.  He  was  not  able  to  keep  up  his  dues  in  the 
various  moral  organizations  to  which  he  belonged, 


U4  The  $30,000  Bequest 

and  had  to  endure  the  sharp  pain  of  seeing  himself 
brought  under  the  disgrace  of  suspension. 

But  the  faster  Edward  died  out  of  public  knowl 
edge  and  interest,  the  faster  George  rose  in  them. 
He  was  found  lying,  ragged  and  drunk,  in  the  gutter 
one  morning.  A  member  of  the  Ladies'  Temperance 
Refuge  fished  him  out,  took  him  in  hand,  got  up  a 
subscription  for  him,  kept  him  sober  a  whole  week, 
then  got  a  situation  for  him.  An  account  of  it  was 
published. 

General  attention  was  thus  drawn  to  the  poor  fel 
low,  and  a  great  many  people  came  forward,  and 
helped  him  towards  reform  with  their  countenance 
and  encouragement.  He  did  not  drink  a  drop  for 
two  months,  and  meantime  was  the  pet  of  the  good. 
Then  he  fell— in  the  gutter;  and  there  was  general 
sorrow  and  lamentation.  But  the  noble  sisterhood 
rescued  him  again.  They  cleaned  him  up,  they  fed 
him,  they  listened  to  the  mournful  music  of  his  re 
pentances,  they  got  him  his  situation  again.  An  ac 
count  of  this,  also,  was  published,  and  the  town  was 
drowned  in  happy  tears  over  the  re-restoration  of 
the  poor  beset  and  struggling  victim  of  the  fatal 
bowl.  A  grand  temperance  revival  was  got  up,  and 
after  some  rousing  speeches  had  been  made  the  chair 
man  said,  impressively:  "We  are  now  about  to  call 
for  signers;  and  I  think  there  is  a  spectacle  in  store 
for  you  which  not  many  in  this  house  will  be  able  to 
view  with  dry  eyes."  There  was  an  eloquent  pause, 
and  then  George  Benton,  escorted  by  a  red-sashed 


Edward  Mills  and  George  Benton:  A  Tale    135 

detachment  of  the  Ladies  of  the  Refuge,  stepped  for 
ward  upon  the  platform  and  signed  the  pledge.  The 
air  was  rent  with  applause,  and  everybody  cried  for 
joy.  Everybody  wrung  the  hand  of  the  new  con 
vert  when  the  meeting  was  over;  his  salary  was  en 
larged  next  day;  he  was  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  its 
hero.  An  account  of  it  was  published. 

George  Benton  fell,  regularly,  every  three  months, 
but  was  faithfully  rescued  and  wrought  with,  every 
time,  and  good  situations  were  found  for  him. 
Finally,  he  was  taken  around  the  country  lecturing, 
as  a  reformed  drunkard,  and  he  had  great  houses  an 
did  an  immense  amount  of  good. 

He  was  so  popular  at  home,  and  so  trusted — dur 
ing  his  sober  intervals — that  he  was  enabled  to  use 
the  name  of  a  principal  citizen,  and  get  a  large  sum 
of  money  at  the  bank.  A  mighty  pressure  was 
brought  to  bear  to  save  him  from  the  consequences 
of  his  forgery,  and  it  was  partially  successful — he 
was  "  sent  up  "  for  only  two  years.  When,  at  the  end 
of  a  year,  the  tireless  efforts  of  the  benevolent  were 
crowned  with  success,  and  he  emerged  from  the  peni 
tentiary  with  a  pardon  in  his  pocket,  the  Prisoner's 
Friend  Society  met  him  at  the  door  with  a  situation 
and  a  comfortable  salary,  and  all  the  other  benev 
olent  people  came  forward  and  gave  him  advice,  en 
couragement,  and  help.  Edward  Mills  had  once  ap 
plied  to  the  Prisoner's  Friend  Society  for  a  situation, 
when  in  dire  need,  but  the  question,  "Have  you  been 
a  prisoner?"  made  brief  work  of  his  case. 


136  The  $30,000  Bequest 

While  all  these  things  were  going  on,  Edward  Mills 
had  been  quietly  making  head  against  adversity. 
He  was  still  poor,  but  was  in  receipt  of  a  steady  and 
sufficient  salary,  as  the  respected  and  trusted  cashier 
of  a  bank.  George  Benton  never  came  near  him, 
and  was  never  heard  to  inquire  about  him.  George 
got  to  indulging  in  long  absences  from  the  town; 
there  were  ill  reports  about  him,  but  nothing  definite. 

One  winter's  night  some  masked  burglars  forced 
their  way  into  the  bank,  and  found  Edward  Mills 
there  alone.  They  commanded  him  to  reveal  the 
"combination,"  so  that  they  could  get  into  the  safe. 
He  refused.  They  threatened  his  life.  He  said  his 
employers  trusted  him,  and  he  could  not  be  traitor 
to  that  trust.  He  could  die,  if  he  must,  but  while  he 
lived  he  would  be  faithful ;  he  would  not  yield  up  the 
"combination."  The  burglars  killed  him. 

The  detectives  hunted  down  the  criminals;  the 
chief  one  proved  to  be  George  Benton.  A  wide  sym 
pathy  was  felt  for  the  widow  and  orphans  of  the 
dead  man,  and  all  the  newspapers  in  the  land  begged 
that  all  the  banks  in  the  land  would  testify  their  ap 
preciation  of  the  fidelity  and  heroism  of  the  mur 
dered  cashier  by  coming  forward  with  a  generous  con 
tribution  of  money  in  aid  of  his  family,  now  bereft  of 
support.  The  result  was  a  mass  of  solid  cash  amount 
ing  to  upward  of  five  hundred  dollars — an  average  of 
nearly  three-eighths  of  a  cent  for  each  bank  in  the 
Union.  The  cashier's  own  bank  testified  its  grati 
tude  by  endeavoring  to  show  (but  humiliatingly 


Edward  Mills  and  George  Benton:  A  Tale    137 

failed  in  it)  that  the  peerless  servant's  accounts  were 
not  square,  and  that  he  himself  had  knocked  his 
brains  out  with  a  bludgeon  to  escape  detection  and 
punishment. 

George  Benton  was  arraigned  for  trial.  Then 
everybody  seemed  to  forget  the  widow  and  orphans 
in  their  solicitude  for  poor  George.  Everything  that 
money  and  influence  could  do  was  done  to  save  him, 
but  it  all  failed  ;  he  was  sentenced  to  death.  Straight 
way  the  Governor  was  besieged  with  petitions  for 
commutation  or  pardon;  they  were  brought  by  tear 
ful  young  girls;  by  sorrowful  old  maids;  by  deputa 
tions  of  pathetic  widows;  by  shoals  of  impressive 
orphans.  But  no,  the  Governor — for  once — would 
not  yield. 

Now  George  Benton  experienced  religion.  The 
glad  news  flew  all  around.  From  that  time  forth  his 
cell  was  always  full  of  girls  and  women  and  fresh 
flowers ;  all  the  day  long  there  was  prayer,  and  hymn- 
singing,  and  thanksgivings,  and  homilies,  and  tears, 
with  never  an  interruption,  except  an  occasional 
five-minute  intermission  for  refreshments. 

This  sort  of  thing  continued  up  to  the  very  gallows, 
and  George  Benton  went  proudly  home,  in  the  black 
cap,  before  a  wailing  audience  of  the  sweetest  and 
best  that  the  region  could  produce.  His  grave  had 
fresh  flowers  on  it  every  day,  for  a  while,  and  the 
head-stone  bore  these  words,  under  a  hand  pointing 
aloft:  "He  has  fought  the  good  fight." 

The  brave  cashier's  head-stone  has  this  inscrip- 

10 


The  $30,000  Bequest 

tion:  "Be  pure,  honest,  sober,  industrious,  con 
siderate,  and  you  will  never — " 

Nobody  knows  who  gave  the  order  to  leave  it  that 
way,  but  it  was  so  given. 

The  cashier's  family  are  in  stringent  circum 
stances,  now,  it  is  said;  but  no  matter;  a  lot  of  ap 
preciative  people,  who  were  not  willing  that  an  act 
so  brave  and  true  as  his  should  go  unrewarded,  have 
collected  forty-two  thousand  dollars— and  built  a 
Memorial  Church  with  it. 


SAINT  JOAN    OF   ARC 


THE  evidence  furnished  at  the  Trials  and  Re 
habilitation  sets  forth  Joan  of  Arc's  strange 
and  beautiful  history  in  clear  and  minute  detail. 
Among  all  the  multitude  of  biographies  that  freight 
the  shelves  of  the  world's  libraries,  this  is  the  only 
one  whose  validity  is  confirmed  to  us  by  oath.  It  gives 
us  a  vivid  picture  of  a  career  and  a  personality  of  so 
extraordinary  a  character  that  we  are  helped  to  ac 
cept  them  as  actualities  by  the  very  fact  that  both 

NOTE. — The  Official  Record  of  the  Trials  and  Rehabilita 
tion  of  Joan  of  Arc  is  the  most  remarkable  history  that  ex 
ists  in  any  language;  yet  there  are  few  people  in  the  world 
who  can  say  they  have  read  it:  in  England  and  America  it 
has  hardly  been  heard  of. 

Three  hundred  years  ago  Shakespeare  did  not  know  the 
true  story  of  Joan  of  Arc;  in  his  day  it  was  unknown  even 
in  France.  For  four  hundred  years  it  existed  rather  as  a 
vaguely  denned  romance  than  as  definite  and  authentic 
history.  The  true  story  remained  buried  in  the  official 
archives  of  France  from  the  Rehabilitation  of  1456  until 
Quicherat  dug  it  out  and  gave  it  to  the  world  two  genera 
tions  ago,  in  lucid  and  understandable  modern  French.  It 
is  a  deeply  fascinating  story.  But  only  in  the  Official  Trials 
and  Rehabilitation  can  it  be  found  in  its  entirety. — M.  T. 


140  The  $30,000  Bequest 

are  beyond  the  inventive  reach  of  fiction.  The 
public  part  of  the  career  occupied  only  a  mere 
breath  of  time — it  covered  but  two  years;  but  what 
a  career  it  was!  The  personality  which  made  it  pos 
sible  is  one  to  be  reverently  studied,  loved,  and  mar 
velled  at,  but  not  to  be  wholly  understood  and  ac 
counted  for  by  even  the  most  searching  analysis. 

In  Joan  of  Arc  at  the  age  of  sixteen  there  was  no 
promise  of  a  romance.  She  lived  in  a  dull  little  vil 
lage  on  the  frontiers  of  civilization ;  she  had  been  no 
where  and  had  seen  nothing;  she  knew  none  but 
simple  shepherd  folk ;  she  had  never  seen  a  person  of 
note ;  she  hardly  knew  what  a  soldier  looked  like ;  she 
had  never  ridden  a  horse,  nor  had  a  warlike  weapon 
in  her  hand;  she  could  neither  read  nor  write:  she 
could  spin  and  sew;  she  knew  her  catechism  and  her 
prayers  and  the  fabulous  histories  of  the  saints,  and 
this  was  all  her  learning.  That  was  Joan  at  sixteen. 
What  did  she  know  of  law?  of  evidence?  of  courts? 
of  the  attorney's  trade?  of  legal  procedure?  Noth 
ing.  Less  than  nothing.  Thus  exhaustively  equip 
ped  with  ignorance,  she  went  before  the  court  at 
Toul  to  contest  a  false  charge  of  breach  of  promise 
of  marriage;  she  conducted  her  cause  herself,  with 
out  any  one's  help  or  advice  or  any  one's  friendly 
sympathy,  and  won  it.  She  called  no  witnesses  of 
her  own,  but  vanquished  the  prosecution  by  using 
with  deadly  effectiveness  its  own  testimony.  The 
astonished  judge  threw  the  case  out  of  court,  and 
spoke  of  her  as  "this  marvellous  child." 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  141 

She  went  to  the  veteran  Commandant  of  Vaucou- 
leurs  and  demanded  an  escort  of  soldiers,  saying  she 
must  march  to  the  help  of  the  King  of  France,  since 
she  was  commissioned  of  God  to  win  back  his  lost 
kingdom  for  him  and  set  the  crown  upon  his  head. 
The  Commandant  said,  "What,  you?  you  are  only 
a  child."  And  he  advised  that  she  be  taken  back  to 
her  village  and  have  her  ears  boxed.  But  she  said 
she  must  obey  God,  and  would  come  again,  and 
again,  and  yet  again,  and  finally  she  would  get  the 
soldiers.  She  said  truly.  In  time  he  yielded,  after 
months  of  delay  and  refusal,  and  gave  her  the 
soldiers;  and  took  off  his  sword  and  gave  her  that, 
and  said,  "  Go — and  let  come  what  may."  She  made 
her  long  and  perilous  journey  through  the  enemy's 
country,  and  spoke  with  the  King,  and  convinced 
him.  Then  she  was  summoned  before  the  Uni 
versity  of  Poitiers  to  prove  that  she  was  commis 
sioned  of  God  and  not  of  Satan,  and  daily  during 
three  weeks  she  sat  before  that  learned  congress  un 
afraid,  and  capably  answered  their  deep  questions 
out  of  her  ignorant  but  able  head  and  her  simple  and 
honest  heart;  and  again  she  won  her  case,  and  with 
it  the  wondering  admiration  of  all  that  august  com 
pany. 

And  now,  aged  seventeen,  she  was  made  Com- 
mander-in-Chief,  with  a  prince  of  the  royal  house 
and  the  veteran  generals  of  France  for  subordinates; 
and  at  the  head  of  the  first  army  she  had  ever  seen, 
she  marched  to  Orleans,  carried  the  commanding 


142  The  $30,000  Bequest 

fortresses  of  the  enemy  by  storm  in  three  desperate 
assaults,  and  in  ten  days  raised  a  siege  which  had 
defied  the  might  of  France  for  seven  months. 

After  a  tedious  and  insane  delay  caused  by  the 
King's  instability  of  character  and  the  treacherous 
counsels  of  his  ministers,  she  got  permission  to  take 
the  field  again.  She  took  Jargeau  by  storm;  then 
Meung;  she  forced  Beaugency  to  surrender;  then — in 
the  open  field — she  won  the  memorable  victory  of 
Patay  against  Talbot,  "the  English  lion,"  and  broke 
the  back  of  the  Hundred  Years'  War.  It  was  a 
campaign  which  cost  but  seven  weeks  of  time;  yet 
the  political  results  would  have  been  cheap  if  the 
time  expended  had  been  fifty  years.  Patay,  that 
unsung  and  now  long-forgotten  battle,  was  the  Mos 
cow  of  the  English  power  in  France;  from  the  blow 
struck  that  day  it  was  destined  never  to  recover.  It 
was  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  an  alien  dominion 
which  had  ridden  France  intermittently  for  three 
hundred  years. 

Then  followed  the  great  campaign  of  the  Loire, 
the  capture  of  Troyes  by  assault,  and  the  triumphal 
march  past  surrendering  towns  and  fortresses  to 
Rheims,  where  Joan  put  the  crown  upon  her  King's 
head  in  the  Cathedral,  amid  wild  public  rejoicings, 
and  with  her  old  peasant  father  there  to  see  these 
things  and  believe  his  eyes  if  he  could.  She  had  re 
stored  the  crown  and  the  lost  sovereignty;  the  King 
was  grateful  for  once  in  his  shabby  poor  life,  and 
asked  her  to  name  her  reward  and  have  it.  She 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  143 

asked  for  nothing  for  herself,  but  begged  that  the 
taxes  of  her  native  village  might  be  remitted  for 
ever.  The  prayer  was  granted,  and  the  promise 
kept  for  three  hundred  and  sixty  years.  Then  it 
was  broken,  and  remains  broken  to-day.  France 
was  very  poor  then,  she  is  very  rich  now;  but  she 
has  been  collecting  those  taxes  for  more  than  a 
hundred  years. 

Joan  asked  one  other  favor:  that  now  that  her 
mission  was  fulfilled  she  might  be  allowed  to  go 
back  to  her  village  and  take  up  her  humble  life 
again  with  her  mother  and  the  friends. of  her  child 
hood  ;  for  she  had  no  pleasure  in  the  cruelties  of  war, 
and  the  sight  of  blood  and  suffering  wrung  her 
heart.  Sometimes  in  battle  she  did  not  draw  her 
sword,  lest  in  the  splendid  madness  of  the  onset  she 
might  forget  herself  and  take  an  enemy's  life  with  it. 
In  the  Rouen  Trials,  one  of  her  quaintest  speeches — 
coming  from  the  gentle  and  girlish  source  it  did — 
was  her  naive  remark  that  she  had  "never  killed  any 
one."  Her  prayer  for  leave  to  go  back  to  the  rest 
and  peace  of  her  village  home  was  not  granted. 

Then  she  wanted  to  march  at  once  upon  Paris, 
take  it,  and  drive  the  English  out  of  France.  She 
was  hampered  in  all  the  ways  that  treachery  and  the 
King's  vacillation  could  devise,  but  she  forced  her 
way  to  Paris  at  last,  and  fell  badly  wounded  in  a 
successful  assault  upon  one  of  the  gates.  Of  course 
her  men  lost  heart  at  once — she  was  the  only  heart 
they  had.  They  fell  back.  She  begged  to  be  al- 


144  The  $30,000  Bequest 

lowed  to  remain  at  the  front,  saying  victory  was  sure. 
"I  will  take  Paris  now  or  die!"  she  said.  But  she 
was  removed  from  the  field  by  force;  the  King  or 
dered  a  retreat,  and  actually  disbanded  his  army. 
In  accordance  with  a  beautiful  old  military  custom 
Joan  devoted  her  silver  armor  and  hung  it  up  in  the 
Cathedral  of  St.  Denis.  Its  great  days  were  over. 

Then,  by  command,  she  followed  the  King  and  his 
frivolous  court  and  endured  a  gilded  captivity  for  a 
time,  as  well  as  her  free  spirit  could;  and  whenever 
inaction  became  unbearable  she  gathered  some  men 
together  and  rode  away  and  assaulted  a  stronghold 
and  captured  it. 

At  last  in  a  sortie  against  the  enemy,  from  Com- 
piegne,  on  the  24th  of  May  (when  she  was  turned 
eighteen),  she  was  herself  captured,  after  a  gallant 
fight.  It  was  her  last  battle.  She  was  to  follow  the 
drums  no  more. 

Thus  ended  the  briefest  epoch-making  military 
career  known  to  history.  It  lasted  only  a  year  and 
a  month,  but  it  found  France  an  English  province, 
and  furnishes  the  reason  that  France  is  France  to 
day  and  not  an  English  province  still.  Thirteen 
months!  It  was,  indeed,  a  short  career;  but  in  the 
centuries  that  have  since  elapsed  five  hundred  mill 
ions  of  Frenchmen  have  lived  and  died  blest  by  the 
benefactions  it  conferred ;  and  so  long  as  France 
shall  endure,  the  mighty  debt  must  grow.  And 
France  is  grateful;  we  often  hear  her  say  it.  Also 
thrifty:  she  collects  the  Domre'my  taxes. 


II 


JOAN  was  fated  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  behind 
bolts  and  bars.  She  was  a  prisoner  of  war,  not  a 
criminal,  therefore  hers  was  recognized  as  an  honor 
able  captivity.  By  the  rules  of  war  she  must  be 
held  to  ransom,  and  a  fair  price  could  not  be  refused 
if  offered.  John  of  Luxembourg  paid  her  the  just 
compliment  of  requiring  a  prince's  ransom  for  her. 
In  that  day  that  phrase  represented  a  definite  sum 
— 61,125  francs.  It  was,  of  course,  supposable  that 
either  the  King  or  grateful  France,  or  both,  would 
fly  with  the  money  and  set  their  fair  young  bene 
factor  free.  But  this  did  not  happen.  In  five  and 
a  half  months  neither  King  nor  country  stirred  a 
hand  nor  offered  a  penny.  Twice  Joan  tried  to  es 
cape.  Once  by  a  trick  she  succeeded  for  a  moment, 
and  locked  her  jailer  in  behind  her,  but  she  was  dis 
covered  and  caught;  in  the  other  case  she  let  herself 
down  from  a  tower  sixty  feet  high,  but  her  rope  was 
too  short,  and  she  got  a  fall  that  disabled  her  and 
she  could  not  get  away. 

Finally,  Cauchon,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  paid  the 
money  and  bought  Joan — ostensibly  for  the  Church, 
to  be  tried  for  wearing  male  attire  and  for  other  im 
pieties,  but  really  for  the  English,  the  enemy  into 


146  The  $30,000  Bequest 

whose  hands  the  poor  girl  was  so  piteously  anxious 
not  to  fall.  She  was  now  shut  up  in  the  dungeons 
of  the  Castle  of  Rouen  and  kept  in  an  iron  cage, 
with  her  hands  and  feet  and  neck  chained  to  a  pillar ; 
and  from  that  time  forth  during  all  the  months  of 
her  imprisonment,  till  the  end,  several  rough  Eng 
lish  soldiers  stood  guard  over  her  night  and  day — 
and  not  outside  her  room,  but  in  it.  It  was  a  dreary 
and  hideous  captivity,  but  it  did  not  conquer  her: 
nothing  could  break  that  invincible  spirit.  From 
first  to  last  she  was  a  prisoner  a  year;  and  she  spent 
the  last  three  months  of  it  on  trial  for  her  life  before 
a  formidable  array  of  ecclesiastical  judges,  and  dis 
puting  the  ground  with  them  foot  by  foot  and  inch 
by  inch  with  brilliant  generalship  and  dauntless 
pluck.  The  spectacle  of  that  solitary  girl,  forlorn 
and  friendless,  without  advocate  or  adviser,  and 
without  the  help  and  guidance  of  any  copy  of  the 
charges  brought  against  her  or  rescript  of  the  com 
plex  and  voluminous  daily  proceedings  of  the  court 
to  modify  the  crushing  strain  upon  her  astonishing 
memory,  fighting  that  long  battle  serene  and  undis 
mayed  against  these  colossal  odds,  stands  alone  in 
its  pathos  and  its  sublimity;  it  has  nowhere  its  mate, 
either  in  the  annals  of  fact  or  in  the  inventions  of 
fiction. 

And  how  fine  and  great  were  the  things  she  daily 
said,  how  fresh  and  crisp — and  she  so  worn  in  body, 
so  starved,  and  tired,  and  harried!  They  run 
through  the  whole  gamut  of  feeling  and  expression — 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  147 

from  scorn  and  defiance,  uttered  with  soldierly  fire 
and  frankness,  all  down  the  scale  to  wounded  dignity 
clothed  in  words  of  noble  pathos;  as,  when  her  pa 
tience  was  exhausted  by  the  pestering  delvings  and 
gropings  and  searchings  of  her  persecutors  to  find 
out  what  kind  of  devil's  witchcraft  she  had  employed 
to  rouse  the  war  spirit  in  her  timid  soldiers,  she 
burst  out  with,  "What  I  said  was,  l Ride  these  Eng 
lish  down' — and  I  did  it  myself!"  and  as,  when  in 
sultingly  asked  why  it  was  that  her  standard  had 
place  at  the  crowning  of  the  King  in  the  Cathedral 
of  Rheims  rather  than  the  standards  of  the  other 
captains,  she  uttered  that  touching  speech,  "It  had 
borne  the  burden,  it  had  earned  the  honor" — a  phrase 
which  fell  from  her  lips  without  premeditation,  yet 
whose  moving  beauty  and  simple  grace  it  would 
bankrupt  the  arts  of  language  to  surpass. 

Although  she  was  on  trial  for  her  life,  she  was  the 
only  witness  called  on  either  side;  the  only  witness 
summoned  to  testify  before  a  packed  jury  commis 
sioned  with  a  definite  task:  to  find  her  guilty,  whether 
she  was  guilty  or  not.  She  must  be  convicted  out  of 
her  own  mouth,  there  being  no  other  way  to  accom 
plish  it.  Every  advantage  that  learning  has  over 
ignorance,  age  over  youth,  experience  over  inex 
perience,  chicane  over  artlessness,  every  trick  and 
trap  and  gin  devisable  by  malice  and  the  cunning  of 
sharp  intellects  practised  in  setting  snares  for  the 
unwary — all  these  were  employed  against  her  with 
out  shame ;  and  when  these  arts  were  one  by  one  de- 


148  The  $30,000  Bequest 

feated  by  the  marvellous  intuitions  of  her  alert  and 
penetrating  mind,  Bishop  Cauchon  stooped  to  a  final 
baseness  which  it  degrades  human  speech  to  de 
scribe:  a  priest  who  pretended  to  come  from  the 
region  of  her  own  home  and  to  be  a  pitying  friend 
and  anxious  to  help  her  in  her  sore  need  was  smuggled 
into  her  cell,  and  he  misused  his  sacred  office  to  steal 
her  confidence;  she  confided  to  him  the  things  sealed 
from  revealment  by  her  Voices,  and  which  her  pros 
ecutors  had  tried  so  long  in  vain  to  trick  her  into  be 
traying.  A  concealed  confederate  set  it  all  down 
and  delivered  it  to  Cauchon,  who  used  Joan's  secrets, 
thus  obtained,  for  her  ruin. 

Throughout  the  Trials,  whatever  the  foredoomed 
witness  said  was  twisted  from  its  true  meaning  when 
possible,  and  made  to  tell  against  her;  and  whenever 
an  answer  of  hers  was  beyond  the  reach  of  twisting 
it  was  not  allowed  to  go  upon  the  record.  It  was 
upon  one  of  these  latter  occasions  that  she  uttered 
that  pathetic  reproach — to  Cauchon:  "Ah,  you  set 
down  everything  that  is  against  me,  but  you  will  not 
set  down  what  is  for  me." 

That  this  untrained  young  creature's  genius  for 
war  was  wonderful,  and  her  generalship  worthy  to 
rank  with  the  ripe  products  of  a  tried  and  trained 
military  experience,  we  have  the  sworn  testimony  of 
two  of  her  veteran  subordinates  —  one,  the  Due 
d'Alencon,  the  other  the  greatest  of  the  French  gen 
erals  of  the  time,  Dunois,  Bastard  of  Orleans;  that 
her  genius  was  as  great — possibly  even  greater — in 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  149 

the  subtle  warfare  of  the  forum  we  have  for  witness 
the  records  of  the  Rouen  Trials,  that  protracted  ex 
hibition  of  intellectual  fence  maintained  with  credit 
against  the  master-minds  of  France;  that  her  moral 
greatness  was  peer  to  her  intellect  we  call  the  Rouen 
Trials  again  to  witness,  with  their  testimony  to  a 
fortitude  which  patiently  and  steadfastly  endured 
during  twelve  weeks  the  wasting  forces  of  captivity, 
chains,  loneliness,  sickness,  darkness,  hunger,  thirst, 
cold,  shame,  insult,  abuse,  broken  sleep,  treachery, 
ingratitude,  exhausting  sieges  of  cross-examination, 
the  threat  of  torture,  with  the  rack  before  her  and 
the  executioner  standing  ready:  yet  never  surrender 
ing,  never  asking  quarter,  the  frail  wreck  of  her  as 
unconquerable  the  last  day  as  was  her  invincible 
spirit  the  first. 

Great  as  she  was  in  so  many  ways,  she  was  perhaps 
even  greatest  of  all  in  the  lofty  things  just  named. — 
her  patient  endurance,  her  steadfastness,  her  granite 
fortitude.  We  may  not  hope  to  easily  find  her  mate 
and  twin  in  these  majestic  qualities;  where  we  lift 
our  eyes  highest  we  find  only  a  strange  and  curious 
contrast  —  there  in  the  captive  eagle  beating  his 
broken  wings  on  the  Rock  of  St.  Helena. 


Ill 


THE  Trials  ended  with  her  condemnation.  But 
as  she  had  conceded  nothing,  confessed  nothing,  this 
was  victory  for  her,  defeat  for  Cauchon.  But  his 
evil  resources  were  not  yet  exhausted.  She  was  per 
suaded  to  agree  to  sign  a  paper  of  slight  import,  then 
by  treachery  a  paper  was  substituted  which  con 
tained  a  recantation  and  a  detailed  confession  of 
everything  which  had  been  charged  against  her  dur 
ing  the  Trials  and  denied  and  repudiated  by  her  per 
sistently  during  the  three  months;  and  this  false 
paper  she  ignorantly  signed.  This  was  a  victory  for 
Cauchon.  He  followed  it  eagerly  and  pitilessly  up 
by  at  once  setting  a  trap  for  her  which  she  could  not 
escape.  When  she  realized  this  she  gave  up  the  long 
struggle,  denounced  the  treason  which  had  been 
practised  against  her,  repudiated  the  false  confes 
sion,  reasserted  the  truth  of  the  testimony  which  she 
had  given  in  the  Trials,  and  went  to  her  martyrdom 
with  the  peace  of  God  in  her  tired  heart,  and  on  hef 
lips  endearing  words  and  loving  prayers  for  the  cur 
she  had  crowned  and  the  nation  of  ingrates  she  had 
saved. 

When  the  fires  rose  about  her  and  she  begged  for  a 
cross  for  her  dying  lips  to  kiss,  it  was  not  a  friend 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  151 

but  an  enemy,  not  a  Frenchman  but  an  alien,  not  a 
comrade  in  arms  but  an  English  soldier,  that  an 
swered  that  pathetic  prayer.  He  broke  a  stick 
across  his  knee,  bound  the  pieces  together  in  the 
form  of  the  symbol  she  so  loved,  and  gave  it  her; 
and  his  gentle  deed  is  not  forgotten,  nor  will  be. 


IV 


TWENTY-FIVE  years  afterwards  the  Process  of  Re 
habilitation  was  instituted,  there  being  a  growing 
doubt  as  to  the  validity  of  a  sovereignty  that  had 
been  rescued  and  set  upon  its  feet  by  a  person  who 
had  been  proven  by  the  Church  to  be  a  witch  and  a 
familiar  of  evil  spirits.  Joan's  old  generals,  her 
secretary,  several  aged  relations  and  other  villagers 
of  Domremy,  surviving  judges  and  secretaries  of  the 
Rouen  and  Poitiers  Processes — a  cloud  of  witnesses, 
some  of  whom  had  been  her  enemies  and  persecutors, 
— came  and  made  oath  and  testified;  and  what  they 
said  was  written  down.  In  that  sworn  testimony 
the  moving  and  beautiful  history  of  Joan  of  Arc  is 
laid  bare,  from  her  childhood  to  her  martyrdom. 
From  the  verdict  she  rises  stainlessly  pure,  in  mind 
and  heart,  in  speech  and  deed  and  spirit,  and  will  so 
endure  to  the  end  of  time. 

She  is  the  Wonder  of  the  Ages.  And  when  we 
consider  her  origin,  her  early  circumstances,  her  sex, 
and  that  she  did  all  the  things  upon  which  her  re 
nown  rests  while  she  was  still  a  young  girl,  we  recog 
nize  that  while  our  race  continues  she  will  be  also 
the  Riddle  of  the  Ages.  When  we  set  about  ac 
counting  for  a  Napoleon  or  a  Shakespeare  or  a 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  153 

Raphael  or  a  Wagner  or  an  Edison  or  other  extraor 
dinary  person,  we  understand  that  the  measure  of 
his  talent  will  not  explain  the  whole  result,  nor  even 
the  largest  part  of  it;  no,  it  is  the  atmosphere  in 
which  the  talent  was  cradled  that  explains;  it  is  the 
training  which  it  received  while  it  grew,  the  nurture 
it  got  from  reading,  study,  example,  the  encourage 
ment  it  gathered  from  self-recognition  and  recogni 
tion  from  the  outside  at  each  stage  of  its  develop 
ment:  when  we  know  all  these  details,  then  we 
know  why  the  man  was  ready  when  his  opportunity 
came.  We  should  expect  Edison's  surroundings  and 
atmosphere  to  have  the  largest  share  in  discovering 
him  to  himself  and  to  the  world;  and  we  should  ex 
pect  him  to  live  and  die  undiscovered  in  a  land 
where  an  inventor  could  find  no  comradeship,  no 
sympathy,  no  ambition-rousing  atmosphere  of  rec 
ognition  and  applause  —  Dahomey,  for  instance, 
Dahomey  could  not  find  an  Edison  out;  in  Da 
homey  an  Edison  could  not  find  himself  out.  Broad 
ly  speaking,  genius  is  not  born  with  sight,  but  blind ; 
and  it  is  not  itself  that  opens  its  eyes,  but  the  subtle 
influences  of  a  myriad  of  stimulating  exterior  cir 
cumstances. 

We  all  know  this  to  be  not  a  guess,  but  a  mere 
commonplace  fact,  a  truism.  Lorraine  was  Joan  of 
Arc's  Dahomey.  And  there  the  Riddle  confronts  us. 
We  can  understand  how  she  could  be  born  with  mili 
tary  genius,  with  leonine  courage,  with  incomparable 
fortitude,  with  a  mind  which  was  in  several  par- 

IX 


!54  The  $30,000  Bequest 

ticulars  a  prodigy— a  mind  which  included  among  its 
specialties  the  lawyer's  gift  of  detecting  traps  laid  by 
the  adversary  in  cunning  and  treacherous  arrange 
ments  of  seemingly  innocent  words,  the  orator's  gift 
of  eloquence,  the  advocate's  gift  of  presenting  a  case 
in  clear  and  compact  form,  the  judge's  gift  of  sorting 
and  weighing  evidence,  and  finally,  something  rec 
ognizable  as  more  than  a  mere  trace  of  the  states 
man's  gift  of  understanding  a  political  situation  and 
how  to  make  profitable  use  of  such  opportunities  as 
it  offers;  we  can  comprehend  how  she  could  be  born 
with  these  great  qualities,  but  we  cannot  compre 
hend    how    they    became    immediately    usable    and 
effective  without  the   developing  forces  of  a   sym 
pathetic  atmosphere  and  the  training  which  comes 
of  teaching,  study,  practice — years  of  practice, — and 
the  crowning  and  perfecting  help  of  a  thousand  mis 
takes.     We  can  understand  how  the  possibilities  of 
the  future   perfect   peach   are   all   lying  hid   in   the 
humble  bitter-almond,   but  we   cannot   conceive  of 
the  peach  springing  directly  from  the  almond  with 
out  the  intervening  long  seasons  of  patient  cultiva 
tion   and   development.     Out   of   a   cattle-pasturing 
peasant  village  lost  in  the  remotenesses  of  an  un- 
visited  wilderness  and  atrophied  with  ages  of  stupe 
faction  and  ignorance  we  cannot  see  a  Joan  of  Arc 
issue  equipped   to   the  last   detail  for  her  amazing 
career  and  hope  to  be  able  to  explain  the  riddle  of 
it,  labor  at  it  as  we  may. 

It  is  beyond  us.     All  the  rules  fail  in  this  girl's 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  155 

case.  In  the  world's  history  she  stands  alone — quite 
alone.  Others  have  been  great  in  their  first  public 
exhibitions  of  generalship,  valor,  legal  talent,  diplo 
macy,  fortitude ;  but  always  their  previous  years  and 
associations  had  been  in  a  larger  or  smaller  degree  a 
preparation  for  these  things.  There  have  been  no 
exceptions  to  the  rule.  But  Joan  was  competent  in 
a  law  case  at  sixteen  without  ever  having  seen  a  law- 
book  or  a  court-house  before;  she  had  no  training  in 
soldiership  and  no  associations  with  it,  yet  she  was  a 
competent  general  in  her  first  campaign;  she  was 
brave  in  her  first  battle,  yet  her  courage  had  had  no 
education — not  even  the  education  which  a  boy's 
courage  gets  from  never-ceasing  reminders  that  it  is 
not  permissible  in  a  boy  to  be  a  coward,  but  only  in 
a  girl;  friendless,  alone,  ignorant,  in  the  blossom  of 
her  youth,  she  sat  week  after  week,  a  prisoner  in 
chains,  before  her  assemblage  of  judges,  enemies 
hunting  her  to  her  death,  the  ablest  minds  in  France, 
and  answered  them  out  of  an  untaught  wisdom 
which  overmatched  their  learning,  baffled  their  tricks 
and  treacheries  with  a  native  sagacity  which  com 
pelled  their  wonder,  and  scored  every  day  a  victory 
against  these  incredible  odds  and  camped  unchal 
lenged  on  the  field.  In  the  history  of  the  human  in 
tellect,  untrained,  inexperienced,  and  using  only  its 
birthright  equipment  of  untried  capacities,  there  is 
nothing  which  approaches  this.  Joan  of  Arc  stands 
alone,  and  must  continue  to  stand  alone,  by  reason 
of  the  unfellowed  fact  that  in  the  things  wherein  she 


156  The  $30,000  Bequest 

was  great  she  was  so  without  shade  or  suggestion  of 
help  from  preparatory  teaching,  practice,  environ 
ment,  or  experience.  There  is  no  one  to  compare 
her  with,  none  to  measure  her  by;  for  all  others 
among  the  illustrious  grew  towards  their  high  place 
in  an  atmosphere  and  surroundings  which  discovered 
their  gift  to  them  and  nourished  it  and  promoted  it, 
intentionally  or  unconsciously.  There  have  been 
other  young  generals,  but  they  were  not  girls;  young 
generals,  but  they  had  been  soldiers  before  they  were 
generals:  she  began  as  a  general;  she  commanded  the 
first  army  she  ever  saw;  she  led  it  from  victory  to 
victory,  and  never  lost  a  battle  with  it;  there  have 
been  young  commanders-in-chief,  but  none  so  young 
as  she:  she  is  the  only  soldier  in  history  who  has 
held  the  supreme  command  of  a  nation's  armies  at 
the  age  of  seventeen. 

Her  history  has  still  another  feature  which  sets  her 
apart  and  leaves  her  without  fellow  or  competitor: 
there  have  been  many  uninspired  prophets,  but  she 
was  the  only  one  who  ever  ventured  the  daring  de 
tail  of  naming,  along  with  a  foretold  event,  the 
event's  precise  nature,  the  special  time -limit  within 
which  it  would  occur,  and  the  place — and  scored  ful 
filment.  At  Vaucouleurs  she  said  she  must  go  to  the 
King  and  be  made  his  general,  and  break  the  Eng 
lish  power,  and  crown  her  sovereign — "at  Rheims." 
It  all  happened.  It  was  all  to  happen  "next  year" 
— and  it  did.  She  foretold  her  first  wound  and  its 
character  and  date  a  month  in  advance,  and  the 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  157 

prophecy  was  recorded  in  a  public  record-book  three 
weeks  in  advance.  She  repeated  it  the  morning  of 
the  date  named,  and  it  was  fulfilled  before  night. 
At  Tours  she  foretold  the  limit  of  her  military  career 
— saying  it  would  end  in  one  year  from  the  time  of 
its  utterance — and  she  was  right.  She  foretold  her 
martyrdom — using  that  word,  and  naming  a  time 
three  months  away — and  again  she  was  right.  At  a 
time  when  France  seemed  hopelessly  and  perma 
nently  in  the  hands  of  the  English  she  twice  asserted 
in  her  prison  before  her  judges  that  within  seven 
years  the  English  would  meet  with  a  mightier  dis 
aster  than  had  been  the  fall  of  Orleans:  it  happened 
within  five — the  fall  of  Paris.  Other  prophecies  of 
hers  came  true,  both  as  to  the  event  named  and  the 
time-limit  prescribed. 

She  was  deeply  religious,  and  believed  that  she  had 
daily  speech  with  angels;  that  she  saw  them  face  to 
face,  and  that  they  counselled  her,  comforted  and 
heartened  her,  and  brought  commands  to  her  direct 
from  God.  She  had  a  childlike  faith  in  the  heavenly 
origin  of  her  apparitions  and  her  Voices,  and  not  any 
threat  of  any  form  of  death  was  able  to  frighten  it 
out  of  her  loyal  heart.  She  was  a  beautiful  and 
simple  and  lovable  character.  In  the  records  of  the 
Trials  this  comes  out  in  clear  and  shining  detail. 
She  was  gentle  and  winning  and  affectionate;  she 
loved  her  home  and  friends  and  her  village  life;  she 
was  miserable  in  the  presence  of  pain  and  suffering; 
she  was  full  of  compassion:  on  the  field  of  her  most 


158  The  $30,000  Bequest 

splendid  victory  she  forgot  her  triumphs  to  hold  in 
her  lap  the  head  of  a  dying  enemy  and  comfort  his 
passing  spirit  with  pitying  words;  in  an  age  when  it 
was  common  to  slaughter  prisoners  she  stood  daunt 
less  between  hers  and  harm,  and  saved  them  alive; 
she  was  forgiving,  generous,  unselfish,  magnanimous; 
she  was  pure  from  all  spot  or  stain  of  baseness. 
And  always  she  was  a  girl;  and  dear  and  worshipful, 
as  is  meet  for  that  estate:  when  she  fell  wounded,  the 
first  time,  she  was  frightened,  and  cried  when  she 
saw  her  blood  gushing  from  her  breast;  but  she  was 
Joan  of  Arc!  and  when  presently  she  found  that  her 
generals  were  sounding  the  retreat,  she  staggered  to 
her  feet  and  led  the  assault  again  and  took  that 
place  by  storm. 

There  is  no  blemish  in  that  rounded  and  beautiful 
character. 

How  strange  it  is! — that  almost  invariably  the 
artist  remembers  only  one  detail — one  minor  and 
meaningless  detail  of  the  personality  of  Joan  of  Arc: 
to  wit,  that  she  was  a  peasant  girl — and  forgets  all 
the  rest;  and  so  he  paints  her  as  a  strapping  middle- 
aged  fishwoman,  with  costume  to  match,  and  in  her 
face  the  spirituality  of  a  ham.  He  is  slave  to  his 
one  idea,  and  forgets  to  observe  that  the  supremely 
great  souls  are  never  lodged  in  gross  bodies.  No 
brawn,  no  muscle,  could  endure  the  work  that  their 
bodies  must  do;  they  do  their  miracles  by  the  spirit, 
which  has  fifty  times  the  strength  and  staying 
power  of  brawn  and  muscle.  The  Napoleons  are 


Saint  Joan  of  Arc  159 

little,  not  big;  and  they  work  twenty  hours  in  the 
twenty -four,  and  come  up  fresh,  while  the  big 
soldiers  with  the  little  hearts  faint  around  them 
with  fatigue.  We  know  what  Joan  of  Arc  was  like, 
without  asking — merely  by  what  she  did.  The 
artist  should  paint  her  spirit — then  he  could  not  fail 
to  paint  her  body  aright.  She  would  rise  before  us, 
then,  a  vision  to  win  us,  not  repel:  a  lithe  young 
slender  figure,  instinct  with  "the  unbought  grace  of 
youth,"  dear  and  bonny  and  lovable,  the  face  beau 
tiful,  and  transfigured  with  the  light  of  that  lustrous 
intellect  and  the  fires  of  that  unquenchable  spirit. 

Taking  into  account,  as  I  have  suggested  before, 
all  the  circumstances — her  origin,  youth,  sex,  illit 
eracy,  early  environment,  and  the  obstructing  con 
ditions  under  which  she  exploited  her  high  gifts  and 
made  her  conquests  in  the  field  and  before  the  courts 
that  tried  her  for  her  life, — she  is  easily  and  by  far 
the  most  extraordinary  person  the  human  race  has 
ever  produced. 


THE   FIVE   BOONS    OF   LIFE 


I 


IN  the  morning  of  life  came  the  good  fairy  with  her 
basket,  and  said: 

"Here  are  gifts.  Take  one,  leave  the  others. 
And  be  wary,  choose  wisely;  oh,  choose  wisely!  for 
only  one  of  them  is  valuable." 

The  gifts  were  five:  Fame,  Love,  Riches,  Pleasure, 
Death.  The  youth  said,  eagerly: 

"There  is  no  need  to  consider";  and  he  chose 
Pleasure. 

He  went  out  into  the  world  and  sought  out  the 
pleasures  that  youth  delights  in.  But  each  in  its 
turn  was  short-lived  and  disappointing,  vain  and 
empty;  and  each,  departing,  mocked  him.  In  the 
end  he  said:  "These  years  I  have  wasted.  If  I 
could  but  choose  again,  I  would  choose  wisely." 


II 


THE  fairy  appeared,  and  said: 

"Four  of  the  gifts  remain.  Choose  once  more; 
and  oh,  remember — time  is  flying,  and  only  one  of 
them  is  precious." 

The  man  considered  long,  then  chose  Love;  and 
did  not  mark  the  tears  that  rose  in  the  fairy's  eyes. 

After  many,  many  years  the  man  sat  by  a  coffin, 
in  an  empty  home.  And  he  communed  with  him 
self,  saying:  "One  by  one  they  have  gone  away  and 
left  me;  and  now  she  lies  here,  the  dearest  and  the 
last.  Desolation  after  desolation  has  swept  over 
me;  for  each  hour  of  happiness  the  treacherous 
trader,  Love,  has  sold  me  I  have  paid  a  thousand 
hours  of  grfef.  Out  of  my  heart  of  hearts  I  curse 
him." 


Ill 


"CHOOSE  again."  It  was  the  fairy  speaking. 
"The  years  have  taught  you  wisdom — surely  it  must 
be  so.  Three  gifts  remain.  Only  one  of  them  has 
any  worth — remember  it,  and  choose  warily." 

The  man  reflected  long,  then  chose  Fame;  and  the 
fairy,  sighing,  went  her  way. 

Years  went  by  and  she  came  again,  and  stood  be 
hind  the  man  where  he  sat  solitary  in  the  fading  day, 
thinking.  And  she  knew  his  thought: 

"  My  name  filled  the  world,  and  its  praises  were  on 
every  tongue,  and  it  seemed  well  with  me  for  a  little 
while.  How  little  a  while  it  was!  Then  came  envy; 
then  detraction;  then  calumny;  then  hate;  then  per 
secution.  Then  derision,  which  is  the  beginning  of 
the  end.  And  last  of  all  came  pity,  which  is  the 
funeral  of  fame.  Oh,  the  bitterness  and  misery  of 
renown!  target  for  mud  in  its  prime,  for  contempt 
and  compassion  in  its  decay." 


IV 


"CHOOSE  yet  again."  It  was  the  fairy's  voice. 
"Two  gifts  remain.  And  do  not  despair.  In  the 
beginning  there  was  but  one  that  was  precious,  and 
it  is  still  here." 

"Wealth — which  is  power!  How  blind  I  was!" 
said  the  man.  "Now,  at  last,  life  will  be  worth 
the  living.  I  will  spend,  squander,  dazzle.  These 
mockers  and  despisers  will  crawl  in  the  dirt  before 
me,  and  I  will  feed  my  hungry  heart  with  their 
envy.  I  will  have  all  luxuries,  all  joys,  all  enchant 
ments  of  the  spirit,  all  contentments  of  the  body 
that  man  holds  dear.  I  will  buy,  buy,  buy!  defer 
ence,  respect,  esteem,  worship  —  every  pinchbeck 
grace  of  life  the  market  of  a  trivial  world  can  fur 
nish  forth.  I  have  lost  much  time,  and  chosen 
badly  heretofore,  but  let  that  pass;  I  was  ignorant 
then,  and  could  but  take  for  best  what  seemed  so." 

Three  short  years  went  by,  and  a  day  came  when 
the  man  sat  shivering  in  a  mean  garret;  and  he  was 
gaunt  and  wan  and  hollow-eyed,  and  clothed  in  rags ; 
and  he  was  gnawing  a  dry  crust  and  mumbling: 

"Curse  all  the  world's  gifts,  for  mockeries  and 
gilded  lies!  •  And  miscalled,  every  one.  They  are 
not  gifts,  but  merely  lendings.  Pleasure,  Love, 


1 64  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Fame,  Riches:  they  are  but  temporary  disguises  for 
lasting  realities — Pain,  Grief,  Shame,  Poverty.  The 
fairy  said  true ;  in  all  her  store  there  was  but  one  gift 
which  was  precious,  only  one  that  was  not  valueless. 
How  poor  and  cheap  and  mean  I  know  those  others 
now  to  be,  compared  with  that  inestimable  one,  that 
dear  and  sweet  and  kindly  one,  that  steeps  in  dream 
less  and  enduring  sleep  the  pains  that  persecute  the 
body,  and  the  shames  and  griefs  that  eat  the  mind 
and  heart.  Bring  it!  I  am  weary,  I  would  rest." 


THE  fairy  came,  bringing  again  four  of  the  gifts, 
but  Death  was  wanting.  She  said: 

"I  gave  it  to  a  mother's  pet,  a  little  child.  It  was 
ignorant,  but  trusted  me,  asking  me  to  choose  for  it. 
You  did  not  ask  me  to  choose." 

"Oh,  miserable  me!     What  is  there  left  for  me?" 

"What  not  even  you  have  deserved:  the  wanton 
insult  of  Old  Age," 


THE   FIRST  WRITING- MACHINES 


FROM    MY    UNPUBLISHED    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

SOME  days    ago    a    correspondent  sent   in  an  old 
type-written   sheet,  faded  by  age,  containing  the 
following  letter  over  the  signature  of  Mark  Twain  : 


"  HARTFORD,  March  19, 
"Please  do  not  use  my  name  in  any  way.  Please 
do  not  even  divulge  the  fact  that  I  own  a  machine. 
I  have  entirely  stopped  using  the  type-writer,  for  the 
reason  that  I  never  could  write  a  letter  with  it  to 
anybody  without  receiving  a  request  by  return  mail 
that  I  would  not  only  describe  the  machine,  but  state 
what  progress  I  had  made  in  the  use  of  it,  etc.,  etc. 
I  don't  like  to  write  letters,  and  so  I  don't  want 
people  to  know  I  own  this  curiosity-breeding  little 
joker." 

A  note  was  sent  to  Mr.  Clemens  asking  him  if  the 
letter  was  genuine  and  whether  he  really  had  a  type 
writer  as  long  ago  as  that.  Mr.  Clemens  replied 
that  his  best  answer  is  in  the  following  chapter  from 
his  unpublished  autobiography: 


The  First  Writing-Machines  167 

1904.     Villa  Quarto,  Florence,  January. 

Dictating  autobiography  to  a  type-writer  is  a  new 
experience  for  me,  but  it  goes  very  well,  and  is  going 
to  save  time  and  "language" — the  kind  of  language 
that  soothes  vexation. 

I  have  dictated  to  a  type-writer  before — but  not 
autobiography.  Between  that  experience  and  the 
present  one  there  lies  a  mighty  gap — more  than 
thirty  years!  It  is  a  sort  of  lifetime.  In  that  wide 
interval  much  has  happened — to  the  type-machine 
as  well  as  to  the  rest  of  us.  At  the  beginning  of 
that  interval  a  type-machine  was  a  curiosity.  The 
person  who  owned  one  was  a  curiosity,  too.  But 
now  it  is  the  other  way  about:  the  person  who 
doesn't  own  one  is  a  curiosity.  I  saw  a  type-machine 
for  the  first  time  in — what  year?  I  suppose  it  was 
1873 — because  Nasby  was  with  me  at  the  time,  and 
it  was  in  Boston.  We  must  have  been  lecturing,  or 
we  could  not  have  been  in  Boston,  I  take  it.  I 
quitted  the  platform  that  season. 

But  never  mind  about  that,  it  is  no  matter. 
Nasby  and  I  saw  the  machine  through  a  window, 
and  went  in  to  look  at  it.  The  salesman  explained 
it  to  us,  showed  us  samples  of  its  work,  and  said  it 
could  do  fifty-seven  words  a  minute — a  statement 
which  we  frankly  confessed  that  we  did  not  believe. 
So  he  put  his  type-girl  to  work,  and  we  timed  her  by 
the  watch.  She  actually  did  the  fifty-seven  in  sixty 
seconds.  We  were  partly  convinced,  but  said  it 
probably  couldn't  happen  again.  But  it  did.  We 


168  The  $30,000  Bequest 

timed  the  girl  over  and  over  again — with  the  same 
result  always:  she  won  out.  She  did  her  work  on 
narrow  slips  of  paper,  and  we  pocketed  them  as  fast 
as  she  turned  them  out,  to  show  as  curiosities.  The 
price  of  the  machine  was  $125.  I  bought  one,  and 
we  went  away  very  much  excited. 

At  the  hotel  we  got  out  our  slips  and  were  a  little 
disappointed  to  find  that  they  all  contained  the  same 
words.  The  girl  had  economized  time  and  labor  by 
using  a  formula  which  she  knew  by  heart.  How 
ever,  we  argued — safely  enough — that  the  first  type- 
girl  must  naturally  take  rank  with  the  first  billiard- 
player:  neither  of  them  could  be  expected  to  get  out 
of  the  game  any  more  than  a  third  or  a  half  of  what 
was  in  it.  If  the  machine  survived — if  it  survived 
— experts  would  come  to  the  front,  by-and-by,  who 
would  double  this  girl's  output  without  a  doubt. 
They  would  do  one  hundred  words  a  minute  —  my 
talking  speed  on  the  platform.  That  score  has  long 
ago  been  beaten. 

At  home  I  played  with  the  toy,  repeating  and  re 
peating  and  repeating  "The  Boy  stood  on  the  Burn 
ing  Deck,"  until  I  could  turn  that  boy's  adventure 
out  at  the  rate  of  twelve  words  a  minute;  then  I  re 
sumed  the  pen,  for  business,  and  only  worked  the 
machine  to  astonish  inquiring  visitors.  They  car 
ried  off  many  reams  of  the  boy  and  his  burning  deck. 

By-and-by  I  hired  a  young  woman,  and  did  my 
first  dictating  (letters,  merely),  and  my  last  until 
now.  The  machine  did  not  do  both  capitals  and 


The   First  Writing-Machines  169 

lower  case  (as  now),  but  only  capitals.  Gothic  cap 
itals  they  were,  and  sufficiently  ugly.  I  remember 
the  first  letter  I  dictated.  It  was  to  Edward  Bok, 
who  was  a  boy  then.  I  was  not  acquainted  with 
him  at  that  time.  His  present  enterprising  spirit 
is  not  new  —  he  had  it  in  that  early  day.  He  was 
accumulating  autographs,  and  was  not  content  with 
mere  signatures,  he  wanted  a  whole  autograph  letter. 
I  furnished  it — in  type -machine  capitals,  signature 
and  all.  It  was  long ;  it  was  a  sermon ;  it  contained 
advice;  also  reproaches.  I  said  writing  was  my 
trade,  my  bread-and-butter;  I  said  it  was  not  fair  to 
ask  a  man  to  give  away  samples  of  his  trade ;  would 
he  ask  the  blacksmith  for  a  horseshoe  ?  would  he  ask 
the  doctor  for  a  corpse  ? 

Now  I  come  to  an  important  matter — as  I  regard 
it.  In  the  year  '74  the  young  woman  copied  a  con 
siderable  part  of  a  book  of  mine  on  the  machine.  In 
a  previous  chapter  of  this  Autobiography  I  have 
claimed  that  I  was  the  first  person  in  the  world  that 
ever  had  a  telephone  in  his  house  for  practical  pur 
poses  ;  I  will  now  claim — until  dispossessed — that  I 
was  the  first  person  in  the  world  to  apply  the  type- 
machine  to  literature.  That  book  must  have  been 
The  Adventures  of  Tom  Sawyer.  I  wrote  the  first 
half  of  it  in  '72,  the  rest  of  it  in  '74.  My  machinist 
type-copied  a  book  for  me  in  '74,  so  I  concluded  it 
was  that  one. 

That  early  machine  was  full  of  caprices,  full  of  de 
fects — devilish  ones.  It  had  as  many  immoralities 

12 


170  The  $30,000  Bequest 

as  the  machines  of  to-day  has  virtues.  After  a  year 
or  two  I  found  that  it  was  degrading  my  character, 
so  I  thought  I  would  give  it  to  Howells.  He  was 
reluctant,  for  he  was  suspicious  of  novelties  and  un 
friendly  towards  them,  and  he  remains  so  to  this  day. 
But  I  persuaded  him.  He  had  great  confidence  in 
me,  and  I  got  him  to  believe  things  about  the  ma 
chine  that  I  did  not  believe  myself.  He  took  it 
home  to  Boston,  and  my  morals  began  to  improve, 
but  his  have  never  recovered. 

He  kept  it  six  months,  and  then  returned  it  to 
me.  I  gave  it  away  twice  after  that,  but  it  wouldn't 
stay;  it  came  back.  Then  I  gave  it  to  our  coach 
man,  Patrick  McAleer,  who  was  very  grateful,  be 
cause  he  did  not  know  the  animal,  and  thought  I 
was  trying  to  make  him  wiser  and  better.  As  soon 
as  he  got  wiser  and  better  he  traded  it  to  a  heretic 
for  a  side-saddle  which  he  could  not  use,  and  there 
my  knowledge  of  its  history  ends. 


ITALIAN   WITHOUT  A  MASTER 


IT  is  almost  a  fortnight  now  that  I  am  domiciled  in 
a  mediaeval  villa  in  the  country,  a  mile  or  two 
from  Florence.  I  cannot  speak  the  language;  I  am 
too  old  now  to  learn  how,  also  too  busy  when  I  am 
busy,  and  too  indolent  when  I  am  not;  wherefore 
some  will  imagine  that  I 
am  having  a  dull  time  of 
it.  But  it  is  not  so.  The 
"  help  "  are  all  natives ;  they 
talk  Italian  to  me,  I  answer 
in  English ;  I  do  not  under 
stand  them,  they  do  not  un 
derstand  me,  consequently 
no  harm  is  done,  and  every 
body  is  satisfied.  In  order 
to  be  just  and  fair,  I  throw 
in  an  Italian  word  when  I 
have  one,  and  this  has  a 
good  influence.  I  get  the 
word  out  of  the  morning 
paper.  I  have  to  use  it 
while  it  is  fresh,  for  I  find 


172 


The  $30,000  Bequest 


that  Italian  words  do  not  keep  in  this  climate.  They 
fade  towards  night,  and  next  morning  they  are  gone. 
But  it  is  no  matter;  I  get  a  new  one  out  of  the 
paper  before  breakfast,  and  thrill  the  domestics  with 
it  while  it  lasts.  I  have  no  dictionary,  and  I  do  not 

want  one;  I  can  select  my 
words  by  the  sound,  or 
by  orthographic  aspect. 
Many  of  them  have  a 
French  or  German  or  Eng 
lish  look,  and  these  are  the 
ones  I  enslave  for  the  day's 
service.  That  is,  as  a  rule. 
Not  always.  If  I  find  a 
learnable  phrase  that  has 
an  imposing  look  and  war 
bles  musically  along  I  do 
not  care  to  know  the  mean 
ing  of  it;  I  pay  it  out  to 
the  first  applicant,  knowing 
that  if  I  pronounce  it  care 
fully  he  will  understand  it, 
and  that's  enough. 

Yesterday's  word  was  avanti.  It  sounds  Shake 
spearian,  and  probably  means  Avaunt  and  quit  my 
sight.  To-day  I  have  a  whole  phrase:  sono  dispia- 
centissimo.  I  do  not  know  what  it  means,  but  it 
seems  to  fit  in  everywhere  and  give  satisfaction. 
Although  as  a  rule  my  words  and  phrases  are  good 
for  one  day  and  train  only,  I  have  several  that  stay 


SONO   DISPIACENTISSIMO 


Italian  without  a  Master  173 

by  me  all  the  time,  for  some  unknown  reason,  and 
these  come  very  handy  when  I  get  into  a  long  con 
versation  and  need  things  to  fire  up  with  in  monoto 
nous  stretches.  One  of  the  best  ones  is  Dov'  e  il 
gatto.  It  nearly  always  produces  a  pleasant  surprise, 
therefore  I  save  it  up  for  places  where  I  want  to  ex 
press  applause  or  admiration.  The  fourth  word  has 
a  French  sound,  and  I  think  the  phrase  means  "that 
takes  the  cake." 

During  my  first  week  in  the  deep  and  dreamy  still 
ness  of  this  woodsy  and  flowery  place  I  was  without 
news  of  the  outside  world,  and  was  well  content 
without  it.  It  had  been  four  weeks  since  I  had  seen 
a  newspaper,  and  this  lack  seemed  to  give  life  a 
new  charm  and  grace,  and  to  saturate  it  with  a 
feeling  verging  upon  actual  delight.  Then  came  a 
change  that  was  to  be  expected:  the  appetite  for 
news  began  to  rise  again,  after  this  invigorating  rest. 
I  had  to  feed  it,  but  I  was  not  willing  to  let  it  make 
me  its  helpless  slave  again;  I  determined  to  put  it 
on  a  diet,  and  a  strict  and  limited  one.  So  I  ex 
amined  an  Italian  paper,  with  the  idea  of  feeding  it 
on  that,  and  on  that  exclusively.  On  that  exclu 
sively,  and  without  help  of  a  dictionary.  In  this  way 
I  should  surely  be  well  protected  against  overloading 
and  indigestion. 

A  glance  at  the  telegraphic  page  filled  me  with 
encouragement.  There  were  no  scare-heads.  That 
was  good — supremely  good.  But  there  were  head 
ings — one-liners  and  two-liners — and  that  was  good 


174  The  $30,000  Bequest 

too ;  for  without  these,  one  must  do  as  one  does  with 
a  German  paper — pay  out  precious  time  in  finding 
out  what  an  article  is  about,  only  to  discover,  in 
many  cases,  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  of  interest  to 
you.  The  head-line  is  a  valuable  thing. 

Necessarily  we  are  all  fond  of  murders,  scandals, 
swindles,  robberies,  explosions,  collisions,  arid  all 
such  things,  when  we  know  the  people,  and  when 
they  are  neighbors  and  friends,  but  when  they  are 
strangers  we  do  not  get  any  great  pleasure  out  of 
them,  as  a  rule.  Now  the  trouble  with  an  American 
paper  is  that  it  has  no  discrimination;  it  rakes  the 
whole  earth  for  blood  and  garbage,  and  the  result  is 
that  you  are  daily  overfed  and  suffer  a  surfeit.  By 
habit  you  stow  this  muck  every  day,  but  you  come 
by-and-by  to  take  no  vital  interest  in  it — indeed, 
you  almost  get  tired  of  it.  As  a  rule,  forty-nine- 
fiftieths  of  it  concerns  strangers  only — people  away 
off  yonder,  a  thousand  miles,  two  thousand  miles, 
ten  thousand  miles  from  where  you  are.  Why,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  who  cares  what  becomes  of 
those  people  ?  I  would  not  give  the  assassination  of 
one  personal  friend  for  a  whole  massacre  of  those 
others.  And,  to  my  mind,  one  relative  or  neighbor 
mixed  up  in  a  scandal  is  more  interesting  than  a 
whole  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  of  outlanders  gone 
rotten.  Give  me  the  home  product  every  time. 

Very  well.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  Florentine 
paper  would  suit  me:  five  out  of  six  of  its  scandals 
and  tragedies  were  local;  they  were  adventures  of 


Italian  without  a  Master  175 

one's  very  neighbors,  one  might  almost  say  one's 
friends.  In  the  matter  of  world  news  there  was  not 
too  much,  but  just  about  enough.  I  subscribed.  I 
have  had  no  occasion  to  regret  it.  Every  morning  I 
get  all  the  news  I  need  for  the  day ;  sometimes  from 
the  head -lines,  sometimes  from  the  text.  I  have 
never  had  to  call  for  a  dictionary  yet.  I  read  the 
paper  with  ease.  Often  I  do  not  quite  understand, 
often  some  of  the  details  escape  me,  but  no  matter,  I 
get  the  idea.  I  will  cut  out  a  passage  or  two,  then 
you  will  see  how  limpid  the  language  is: 


The  first  line  means  that  the  Italian  sovereigns  are 
coming  back — they  have  been  to  England.  The 
second  line  seems  to  mean  that  they  enlarged  the 
King  at  the  Italian  hospital.  With  a  banquet,  I  sup 
pose.  An  English  banquet  has  that  effect.  Further: 


II  ritorno  del  Sovranij/' 

_,  a  Roma 

24,  ore  22,$X  -  I  Sovrani  e  le 
Principessine  Beali  si  attendono  a  Boma  do- 
mam  alle  ore  15,51. 


Return  of  the  sovereigns  to  Rome,  you  see.     Date 
of  the  telegram,  Rome,  November  24,  ten  minutes 


Italian  without  a  Master  177 

before  twenty-three  o'clock.  The  telegram  seems  to 
say,  ''The  Sovereigns  and  the  Royal  Children  expect 
themselves  at  Rome  to-morrow  at  fifty-one  minutes 
after  fifteen  o'clock." 

I  do  not  know  about  Italian  time,  but  I  judge  it 
begins  at  midnight  and  runs  through  the  twenty- 
four  hours  without  breaking  bulk.  In  the  following 
ad.  the  theatres  open  at  half-past  twenty.  If  these 
are  not  matinees,  20.30  must  mean  8.30  P.M.,  by  my 
reckoning. 


Spettacoli  del  di 

033JATRO  BELLA  PERGOLA- (Ore  20,30) 

—  Opera :  '-BoTikinA, 

OJEATRO  ALFIERI.  —  Compagma  dram- 
matica  Drago  -—  (Ore  20,30)  —  La  Legge. 

ALHAMBEfA  —(Ore  20,30)  —  Spettacolo 
variato. 

SALA  EDISON  —  •„.  Grandiosq  spettacolb 
Cinematograficof  Quo~VadisT.  —  Inau- 
gurazione  della  Chiesa  Russa  —  In  coda 
al  Direttissimo  —  Yedute  di  Firenze  tfbn 
.gran  xnovimento  —  America:  Trasporto 
trpQchi  giganteschi — I  ladri  in 
Diavolo  —  Scene  comiche. 

dNEMATOGBAFO  —  Via  BruneUeschi  n. 

—  Programma  etraordinario,  Don  Chi- 
,sdoite  —  Prezzi  popolari. 


The  whole  of  that  is  intelligible  to  me — and  sane 
and  rational,  too — except  the  remark  about  the  In 
auguration  of  a  Russian  Cheese.  That  one  oversizes 
my  hand.  Gimme  five  cards. 

This  is  a  four-page  paper;  and  as  it  is  set  in  long 
primer  leaded  and  has  a  page  of  advertisements, 


I78  The  $30,000  Bequest 

there  is  no  room  for  the  crimes,  disasters,  and  general 
sweepings  of  the  outside  world — thanks  be!  To-day 
I  find  only  a  single  importation  of  the  off-color  sort: 


-Una 

cite  Aigrg-e   con    iiia    coccliiere 

24.  -  11  Afc*4    ha   xTa    Berlino 
cfie  la    prmcipeosa    Bclaovenbsre-Waldenbure 
scomparve  il  9    novembre,    Sarebbe    partita 
Col  siio  cocchiere. 
jja  Principessa  ha  27  anni. 


Twenty-seven  years  old,  and  scomparve — scam 
pered — on  the  Qth  November.  You  see  by  the  added 
detail  that  she  departed  with  her  coachman.  I  hope 
Sarebbe  has  not  made  a  mistake,  but  I  am  afraid  the 
chances  are  that  she  has.  Sono  dispiacentissimo. 

There  are  several  fires:  also  a  couple  of  accidents. 
This  is  one  of  them: 


~1>rave  disgrazia  sui  Ponte  Vecchio 


stando 
p         -  carico   'diverdura,  p^rse  1 

'«M.i  Dio    '        tra3P°rtar0i10  a 


i8o  The  $30,000  Bequest 

What  it  seems  to  say  is  this:  "Serious  Disgrace  on 
the  Old  Old  Bridge.  This  morning  about  7.30,  Mr. 
Joseph  Sciatti,  aged  55,  of  Casellina  and  Torri,  while 
standing  up  in  a  sitting  posture  on  top  of  a  carico 
barrow  of  verdure  (foliage?  hay?  vegetables?),  lost 
his  equilibrium  and  fell  on  himself,  arriving  with  his 
left  leg  under  one  of  the  wheels  of  the  vehicle. 

"Said  Sciatti  was  suddenly  harvested  (gathered 
in?)  by  several  citizens,  who  by  means  of  public  cab 
No.  365  transported  him  to  St.  John  of  God." 

Paragraph  No.  3  is  a  little  obscure,  but  I  think  it 
says  that  the  medico  set  the  broken  left  leg — right 
enough,  since  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  the 
other  one — and  that  several  are  encouraged  to  hope 
that  fifty  days  will  fetch  him  around  in  quite  giudi- 
candolo-guaribile  way,  if  no  complications  intervene. 

I  am  sure  I  hope  so  myself. 

There  is  a  great  and  peculiar  charm  about  reading 
news-scraps  in  a  language  which  you  are  not  ac 
quainted  with — the  charm  that  always  goes  with  the 
mysterious  and  the  uncertain.  You  can  never  be 
absolutely  sure  of  the  meaning  of  anything  you  read 
in  such  circumstances;  you  are  chasing  an  alert  and 
gamy  riddle  all  the  time,  and  the  baffling  turns  and 
dodges  of  the  prey  make  the  life  of  the  hunt.  A 
dictionary  would  spoil  it.  Sometimes  a  single  word 
of  doubtful  purport  will  cast  a  veil  of  dreamy  and 
golden  uncertainty  over  a  whole  paragraph  of  cold 
and  practical  certainties,  and  leave  steeped  in  a 
haunting  and  adorable  mystery  an  incident  which 


1 82  The  $30,000  Bequest 

had  been  vulgar  and  commonplace  but  for  that  bene 
faction.  Would  you  be  wise  to  draw  a  dictionary  on 
that  gracious  word  ?  would  you  be  properly  grateful  ? 
After  a  couple  of  days'  rest  I  now  come  back  to  my 
subject  and  seek  a  case  in  point.  I  find  it  without 
trouble,  in  the  morning  paper;  a  cablegram  from 
Chicago  and  Indiana  by  way  of  Paris.  All  the  words 
save  one  are  guessable  by  a  person  ignorant  of 
Italian: 

Reiolverate  in 

PARIGI,  27.  -La  Patrie  ha  da  Chicago: 
II  guardiano  del  .teatro   deft1  opera  di  Wai- 
..1&£6  (Indiana),  avendo    voluto  .  espellere  uno 
spottatorexche  continuava  a  fiimare  malgrado 
il  divicto,  questo    apalleggiato  dai  suoi  amici 
tird  diversi-  Qolpi   di    rivoltelta..  II  guardiano 
Dispose,  Nacque  una  scariea  ^enorale.  .Grande 
panico  fra  gli  spettatori.  Nessan  ferito. 


Translation.  --  "REVOLVERATION  IN  THEATRE. 
Paris,  2jik.  La  Patrie  has  from  Chicago:  The  cop 
of  the  theatre  of  the  opera  of  Wallace,  Indiana,  had 
willed  to  expel  a  spectator  which  continued  to  smoke 
in  spite  of  the  prohibition,  who,  spalleggiato  by  his 
friends,  tiro  (Fr.  tire,  Anglice  pulled]  manifold  re 
volver-shots.  The  cop  responded.  Result,  a  gen 
eral  scare;  great  panic  among  the  spectators.  No 
body  hurt." 

It  is  bettable  that  that  harmless  cataclysm  in  the 
theatre  of  the  opera  of  Wallace,  Indiana,  excited  not 
a  person  in  Europe  but  me,  and  so  came  near  to  not 


1 84  The  $30,000  Bequest 

being  worth  cabling  to  Florence  by  way  of  France. 
But  it  does  excite  me.     It  excites  me  because  I  can 
not  make  out,  for  sure,  what  it  was  that  moved  that 
spectator  to  resist  the  officer.     I  was  gliding  along 
smoothly  and  without  obstruction  or  accident,  until 
I  came  to  that  word  spalleggiato,  then  the  bottom 
fell   out.     You  notice  what  a   rich  gloom,   what   a 
sombre  and  pervading  mystery,  that  word  sheds  all 
over   the   whole   Wallachian   tragedy.     That   is   the 
charm  of  the  thing,  that  is  the  delight  of  it.     This  is 
where  you  begin,  this  is  where  you  revel.     You  can 
guess  and  guess,  and  have  all  the  fun  you  like;  you 
need  not  be  afraid  there  will  be  an  end  to  it;  none  is 
possible,  for  no  amount  of  guessing  will  ever  furnish 
you  a  meaning  for  that  word  that  you  can  be  sure  is 
the  right  one.     All  the  otlier  words  give  you  hints, 
by  their  form,  their  sound,  or  their  spelling — this  one 
doesn't,  this  one  throws  out  no  hints,  this  one  keeps 
its    secret.     If    there    is    even    the    slightest    slight 
shadow  of  a  hint  anywhere,  it  lies  in  the  very  meagrely 
suggestive   fact   that   spalleggiato   carries   our  word 
''egg"  in  its  stomach.     Well,  make  the  most  out  of 
it,  and  then  where  are  you  at  ?     You  conjecture  that 
the  spectator  which  was  smoking  in  spite  of  the  pro 
hibition  and  become  reprohibited  by  the  guardians, 
was  "egged  on"  by  his  friends,  and  that  it  was  owing 
to  that  evil  influence  that  he  initiated  the  revolvera- 
tion  in  theatre  that  has  galloped  under  the  sea  and 
come  crashing  through  the  European  press  without 
exciting  anybody  but  me.     But  are  you  sure,   are 


Italian  without  a  Master  185 

you  dead  sure,  that  that  was  the  way  of  it?  No. 
Then  the  uncertainty  remains,  the  mystery  abides, 
and  with  it  the  charm.  Guess  again. 

If  I  had  a  phrase-book  of  a  really  satisfactory  sort 
I  would  study  it,  and  not  give  all  my  free  time  to  un- 
dictionarial  readings,  but  there  is  no  such  work  on 
the  market.  The  existing  phrase-books  are  inade 
quate.  They  are  well  enough  as  far  as  they  go,  but 
when  you  fall  down  and  skin  your  leg  they  don't  tell 
you  what  to  say. 
13 


ITALIAN    WITH   GRAMMAR 


I  FOUND  that  a  person  of  large  intelligence  could 
read  this  beautiful  language  with  considerable 
facility  without  a  dictionary,  but  I  presently  found 
that  to  such  a  person  a  grammar  could  be  of  use  at 
times.  It  is  because,  if  he  does  not  know  the  Were's 
and  the  Was's  and  the  May-he's  and  the  Has-been's 
apart,  confusions  and  uncertainties  can  arise.  He 
can  get  the  idea  that  a  thing  is  going  to  happen  next 
week  when  the  truth  is  that  it  has  already  happened 
week  before  last.  Even  more  previously,  sometimes. 
Examination  and  inquiry  showed  me  that  the  adjec 
tives  and  such  things  were  frank  and  fair-minded  and 
straightforward ,  and  did  not  shuffle ;  it  was  the  Verb 
that  mixed  the  hands,  it  was  the  Verb  that  lacked 
stability,  it  was  the  Verb  that  had  no  permanent 
opinion  about  anything,  it  was  the  Verb  that  was 
always  dodging  the  issue  and  putting  out  the  light 
and  making  all  the  trouble. 

Further  examination,  further  inquiry,  further  re 
flection,  confirmed  this  judgment,  and  established 
beyond  peradventure  the  fact  that  the  Verb  was  the 
storm-centre.  This  discovery  made  plain  the  right 
and  wise  course  to  pursue  in  order  to  acquire  certainty 


Italian  with  Grammar  187 

and  exactness  in  understanding  the  statements  which 
the  newspaper  was  daily  endeavoring  to  convey  to 
me:  I  must  catch  a  Verb  and  tame  it.  I  must  find 
out  its  ways,  I  must  spot  its  eccentricities,  I  must 
penetrate  its  disguises,  I  must  intelligently  foresee 
and  forecast  at  least  the  commoner  of  the  dodges  it 
was  likely  to  try  upon  a  stranger  in  given  circum 
stances,  I  must  get  in  on  its  main  shifts  and  head 
them  off,  I  must  learn  its  game  and  play  the  limit. 

I  had  noticed,  in  other  foreign  languages,  that  verbs 
are  bred  in  families,  and  that  the  members  of  each 
family  have  certain  features  or  resemblances  that  are 
common  to  that  family  and  distinguish  it  from  the 
other  families — the  other  kin,  the  cousins  and  what 
not.  I  had  noticed  that  this  family-mark  is  not 
usually  the  nose  or  the  hair,  so  to  speak,  but  the  tail — 
the  Termination, — and  that  these  tails  are  quite 
definitely  differentiated ;  insomuch  that  an  expert 
can  tell  a  Pluperfect  from  a  Subjunctive  by  its  tail  as 
easily  and  as  certainly  as  a  cowboy  can  tell  a  cow  from 
a  horse  by  the  like  process,  the  result  of  observation 
and  culture.  I  should  explain  that  I  am  speaking  of 
legitimate  verbs,  those  verbs  which  in  the  slang  of  the 
grammar  are  called  Regular.  There  are  others — I  am 
not  meaning  to  conceal  this ;  others  called  Irregulars, 
born  out  of  wedlock,  of  unknown  and  uninteresting 
parentage,  and  naturally  destitute  of  family  resem 
blances,  as  regards  all  features,  tails  included.  But 
of  these  pathetic  outcasts  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I 
do  not  approve  of  them,  I  do  not  encourage  them;  I 


1 88  The  $30,000  Bequest 

am  prudishly  delicate  and  sensitive,  and  I  do  not 
allow  them  to  be  used  in  my  presence. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  I  decided  to  catch  one  of  the 
others  and  break  it  to  harness.  One  is  enough.  Once 
familiar  with  its  assortment  of  tails,  you  are  immune; 
after  that,  110  regular  verb  can  conceal  its  specialty 
from  you  and  make  you  think  it  is  working  the  past 
or  the  future  or  the  conditional  or  the  unconditional 
when  it  is  engaged  in  some  other  line  of  business — its 
tail  will  give  it  away.  I  found  out  all  these  things 
by  myself,  without  a  teacher. 

I  selected  the  verb  Amare,  to  love.  Not  for  any 
personal  reason,  for  I  am  indifferent  about  verbs;  I 
care  no  more  for  one  verb  than  for  another,  and  have 
little  or  no  respect  for  any  of  them;  but  in  foreign 
languages  you  always  begin  with  that  one.  Why,  I 
do  not  know.  It  is  merely  habit,  I  suppose;  the  first 
teacher  chose  it,  Adam  v/as  satisfied,  and  there  hasn't 
been  a  successor  since  with  originality  enough  to  start 
a  fresh  one.  For  they  are  a  pretty  limited  lot,  you 
will  admit  that  ?  Originality  is  not  in  their  line ;  they 
can't  think  up  anything  new,  anything  to  freshen  up 
the  old  moss-grown  dulness  of  the  language  lesson  and 
put  life  and  "go"  into  it,  and  charm  and  grace  and 
picturesqueness. 

I  knew  I  must  look  after  those  details  myself; 
therefore  I  thought  them  out  and  wrote  them  down, 
and  sent  for  the  facchino  and  explained  them  to  him, 
and  said  he  must  arrange  a  proper  plant,  and  get  to 
gether  a  good  stock  company  among  the  contadini, 


Italian  with  Grammar  189 

and  design  the  costumes,  and  distribute  the  parts; 
and  drill  the  troupe,  and  be  ready  in  three  days  to 
begin  on  this  Verb  in  a  shipshape  and  workman-like 
manner.  I  told  him  to  put  each  grand  division  of 
it  under  a  foreman,  and  each  subdivision  under  a 
subordinate  of  the  rank  of  sergeant  or  corporal  or 
something  like  that,  and  to  have  a  different  uniform 
for  each  squad,  so  that  I  could  tell  a  Pluperfect  from 
a  Compound  Future  without  looking  at  the  book; 
the  whole  battery  to  be  under  his  own  special  and 
particular  command,  with  the  rank  of  Brigadier,  and 
I  to  pay  the  freight. 

I  then  inquired  into  the  character  and  possibilities 
of  the  selected  verb,  and  was  much  disturbed  to  find 
that  it  was  over  my  size,  it  being  chambered  for  fifty- 
seven  rounds — fifty-seven  ways  of  saying  /  love  with 
out  reloading;  and  yet  none  of  them  likely  to  con 
vince  a  girl  that  was  laying  for  a  title,  or  a  title  that 
was  laying  for  rocks. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  with  my  inexperience  it 
would  be  foolish  to  go  into  action  with  this  mitrail 
leuse,  so  I  ordered  it  to  the  rear  and  told  the  facchino 
to  provide  something  a  little  more  primitive  to  start 
with,  something  less  elaborate,  some  gentle  old- 
fashioned  flint-lock,  smooth-bore,  double-barrelled 
thing,  calculated  to  cripple  at  two  hundred  yards  and 
kill  at  forty — an  arrangement  suitable  for  a  beginner 
who  could  be  satisfied  with  moderate  results  on  the 
offstart  and  did  not  wish  to  take  the  whole  territory 
in  the  first  campaign. 


190  The  $30,000  Bequest 

But  in  vain.  He  was  not  able  to  mend  the  matter, 
all  the  verbs  being  of  the  same  build,  all  Gatlings,  all 
of  the  same  calibre  and  delivery,  fifty-seven  to  the 
volley,  and  fatal  at  a  mile  and  a  half.  But  he  said 
the  auxiliary  verb  AVERE,  to  have,  was  a  tidy  thing, 
and  easy  to  handle  in  a  seaway,  and  less  likely  to 
miss  stays  in  going  about  than  some  of  the  others; 
so,  upon  his  recommendation  I  chose  that  one,  and 
told  him  to  take  it  along  and  scrape  its  bottom  and 
break  out  its  spinnaker  and  get  it  ready  for  business. 

I  will  explain  that  a  facchino  is  a  general-utility 
domestic.  Mine  was  a  horse-doctor  in  his  better  days, 
and  a  very  good  one. 

At  the  end  of  three  days  the  facchino-doctor- 
brigadier  was  ready.  I  was  also  ready,  with  a  ste 
nographer.  We  were  in  the  room  called  the  Rope- 
Walk.  This  is  a  formidably  long  room,  as  is  indicated 
by  its  facetious  name,  and  is  a  good  place  for  reviews. 
At  9.30  the  F.-D.-B.  took  his  place  near  me  and  gave 
the  word  of  command;  the  drums  began  to  rumble 
and  thunder,  the  head  of  the  forces  appeared  at  an 
upper  door,  and  the  "march-past"  was  on.  Down 
they  filed,  a  blaze  of  variegated  color,  each  squad 
gaudy  in  a  uniform  of  its  own  and  bearing  a  banner 
inscribed  with  its  verbal  rank  and  quality:  first  the 
Present  Tense  in  Mediterranean  blue  and  old-gold, 
then  the  Past  Definite  in  scarlet  and  black,  then  the 
Imperfect  in  green  and  yellow,  then  the  Indicative 
Future  in  the  stars  and  stripes,  then  the  Old  Red 


Italian  with  Grammar  191 

Sandstone  Subjunctive  in  purple  and  silver — and  so 
on  and  so  on,  fifty-seven  privates  and  twenty  com 
missioned  and  non-commissioned  officers;  certainly 
one  of  the  most  fiery  and  dazzling  and  eloquent  sights 
I  have  ever  beheld.  I  could  not  keep  back  the  tears. 
Presently — 

"Halt!"  commanded  the  Brigadier. 

"Front — face!" 

"Right  dress!" 

"Stand  at  ease!" 

"One — two — three.     In  unison — recite /" 

It  was  fine.  In  one  noble  volume  of  sound  all  the 
fifty-seven  Haves  in  the  Italian  language  burst  forth 
in  an  exalting  and  splendid  confusion.  Then  came 
the  commands — 

"About — face!  Eyes — front!  Helm  alee — -hard 
aport!  Forward — march!"  and  the  drums  let  go 
again. 

When  the  last  Termination  had  disappeared,  the 
commander  said  the  instruction  drill  would  now  be 
gin,  and  asked  for  suggestions.  I  said: 

"They  say  /  have,  ikon  hast,  he  has,  and  so  on,  but 
they  don't  say  what.  It  will  be  better,  and  more 
definite,  if  they  have  something  to  have;  just  an 
object,  you  know,  a  something — anything  will  do ; 
anything  that  will  give  the  listener  a  sort  of  personal 
as  well  as  grammatical  interest  in  their  joys  and  com 
plaints,  you  see." 

He  said: 

"It  is  a  good  point.     Would  a  dog  do  ?" 


I92  The  $30,OUO  Bequest 

I  said  I  did  not  know,  but  we  could  try  a  dog  and 
see.  So  he  sent  out  an  aide-de-camp  to  give  the 
order  to  add  the  dog. 

The  six  privates  of  the  Present  Tense  now  filed  in, 
in  charge  of  Sergeant  A  VERB  (to  have},  and  displaying 
their  banner.  They  formed  in  line  of  battle,  and  re 
cited,  one  at  a  time,  thus: 

" lo  ho  un  cane,  I  have  a  dog." 

"  Tu  hai  un  cane,  thou  hast  a  dog." 

" Egli  ha  un  cane,  he  has  a  dog." 

" Noi  abbiamo  un  cane,  we  have  a  dog." 

"  Voi  avete  un  cane,  you  have  a  dog." 

" Eglino  hanno  un  cane,  they  have  a  dog." 

No  comment  followed.  They  returned  to  camp, 
and  I  reflected  a  while.  The  commander  said : 

"I  fear  you  are  disappointed." 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "they  are  too  monotonous,  too 
singsong,  too  dead-and-alive;  they  have  no  expres 
sion,  no  elocution.  It  isn't  natural;  it  could  never 
happen  in  real  life.  A  person  who  has  just  acquired 
a  dog  is  either  blame'  glad  or  blame'  sorry.  He  is 
not  on  the  fence.  I  never  saw  a  case.  What  the 
nation  do  you  suppose  is  the  matter  with  these 
people?" 

He  thought  maybe  the  trouble  was  with  the  dog. 
He  said: 

"These  are  contadini,  you  know,  and  they  have  a 
prejudice  against  dogs — that  is,  against  marimane. 
Marimana  dogs  stand  guard  over  people's  vines  and 


Italian  with  Grammar  193 

olives,  you  know,  and  are  very  savage,  and  thereby 
a  grief  and  an  inconvenience  to  persons  who  want 
other  people's  things  at  night.  In  my  judgment  they 
have  taken  this  dog  for  a  marimana,  and  have  soured 
on  him.'1 

I  saw  that  the  dog  was  a  mistake,  and  not  function- 
able:  we  must  try  something  else;  something,  if  pos 
sible,  that  could  evoke  sentiment,  interest,  feeling. 

"What  is  cat,  in  Italian?"  I  asked. 

"Gatto." 

"Is  it  a  gentleman  cat,  or  a  lady?" 

"Gentleman  cat." 

"  How  are  these  people  as  regards  that  animal?" 

"We-11,  they— they — " 

"You  hesitate:  that  is  enough.  How  are  they 
about  chickens?" 

He  tilted  his  eyes  towards  heaven  in  mute  ecstasy. 
I  understood. 

"What  is  chicken  in  Italian?"  I  asked. 

"Polio,  podere"  (Podere  is  Italian  for  master.  It 
is  a  title  of  courtesy,  and  conveys  reverence  and 
admiration.)  "Polio  is  one  chicken  by  itself;  when 
there  are  enough  present  to  constitute  a  plural,  it  is 
polli" 

"Very  well,  polli  will  do.  Which  squad  is  detailed 
for  duty  next?" 

"The  Past  Definite." 

"  Send  out  and  order  it  to  the  front — with  chickens. 
And  let  them  understand  that  we  don't  want  any 
more  of  this  cold  indifference." 


194  The  $30,000  Bequest 

He  gave  the  order  to  an  aide,  adding,  with  a  haunt 
ing  tenderness  in  his  tone  and  a  watering  mouth  in 
his  aspect: 

"Convey  to  them  the  conception  that  these  are  un 
protected  chickens."  He  turned  to  me,  saluting  with 
his  hand  to  his  temple,  and  explained,  "  It  will  inflame 
their  interest  in  the  poultry,  sire." 

A  few  minutes  elapsed.  Then  the  squad  marched 
in  and  formed  up,  their  faces  glowing  with  enthusiasm, 
and  the  file-leader  shouted : 

"Ebbi  polli,  I  had  chickens!" 

"Good!"  I  said.     "Go  on,  the  next." 

"Avesti  polli,  thou  hadst  chickens!" 

"Fine!     Next!" 

"Ebbe  polli,  he  had  chickens!" 

" Moltimoltissimo !     Go  on,  the  next!" 

"Avemmo  polli,  we  had  chickens!" 

"Basta-basta  aspettatto  avanti  —  last  man  — 
charge  /" 

"Ebbero  polli,  they  had  chickens!" 

Then  they  formed  in  echelon,  by  column  of  fours, 
refusing  the  left,  and  retired  in  great  style  on  the 
double-quick.  I  was  enchanted,  and  said: 

"Now,  doctor,  that  is  something  like!  Chickens 
are  the  ticket,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it.  What  is 
the  next  squad?" 

"The  Imperfect." 

"How  does  it  go?" 

"  lo  aveva,  I  had,  tu  avevi,  thou  hadst,  egli  aveva, 
he  had,  noi  av — " 


Italian  with  Grammar  195 

"Wait — we've  just  had  the  hads.  What  are  you 
giving  me?" 

"But  this  is  another  breed." 

"What  do  we  want  of  another  breed?  Isn't  one 
breed  enough  ?  Had  is  HAD,  and  your  tricking  it  out 
in  a  fresh  way  of  spelling  isn't  going  to  make  it  any 
hadder  than  it  was  before ;  now  you  know  that  your 
self." 

"But  there  is  a  distinction — they  are  not  just  the 
same  Hads." 

"  How  do  you  make  it  out  ?" 

"  Well,  you  use  that  first  Had  when  you  are  referring 
to  something  that  happened  at  a  named  and  sharp 
and  perfectly  definite  moment;  you  use  the  other 
when  the  thing  happened  at  a  vaguely  defined  time 
and  in  a  more  prolonged  and  indefinitely  continuous 
way." 

"Why,  doctor,  it  is  pure  nonsense;  you  know  it 
yourself.  Look  here:  If  I  have  had  a  had,  or  have 
wanted  to  have  had  a  had,  or  was  in  a  position  right 
then  and  there  to  have  had  a  had  that  hadn't  had 
any  chance  to  go  out  hadding  on  account  of  this 
foolish  discrimination  which  lets  one  Had  go  hadding 
in  any  kind  of  indefinite  grammatical  weather  but 
restricts  the  other  one  to  definite  and  datable  meteoric 
convulsions,  and  keeps  it  pining  around  and  watching 
the  barometer  all  the  time,  and  liable  to  get  sick 
through  confinement  and  lack  of  exercise,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  why — why,  the  inhumanity  of  it  is 
enough,  let  alone  the  wanton  superfluity  and  useless- 


196  The  $30,000  Bequest 

ness  of  any  such  a  loafing  consumptive  hospital-bird 
of  a  Had  taking  up  room  and  cumbering  the  place  for 
nothing.  These  finical  refinements  revolt  me;  it  is 
not  right,  it  is  not  honorable;  it  is  constructive 
nepotism  to  keep  in  office  a  Had  that  is  so  delicate 
it  can't  come  out  when  the  wind's  in  the  nor'west — I 
won't  have  this  dude  on  the  pay-roll.  Cancel  his 
exequatur ;  and  look  here — 

"But  you  miss  the  point.  It  is  like  this.  You 
see — " 

"Never  mind  explaining,  I  don't  care  anything 
about  it.  Six  Hads  is  enough  for  me;  anybody  that 
needs  twelve,  let  him  subscribe;  I  don't  want  any 
stock  in  a  Had  Trust.  Knock  out  the  Prolonged  and 
Indefinitely  Continuous;  four-fifths  of  it  is  water, 
anyway." 

"But  I  beg  you,  podere!  It  is  often  quite  indis 
pensable  in  cases  where — " 

"Pipe  the  next  squad  to  the  assault!" 

But  it  was  not  to  be ;  for  at  that  moment  the  dull 
boom  of  the  noon  gun  floated  up  out  of  far-off  Florence, 
followed  by  the  usual  softened  jangle  of  church-bells, 
Florentine  and  suburban,  that  bursts  out  in  murmur 
ous  response ;  by  labor-union  law  the  colazione  *  must 
stop;  stop  promptly,  stop  instantly,  stop  definitely, 
like  the  chosen  and  best  of  the  breed  of  Hads. 

1  Colazione  is  Italian  for  a  collection,  a  meeting,  a  seance, 
a  sitting.— M.  T. 


A  BURLESQUE   BIOGRAPHY 


TWO  or  three  persons  having  at  different  times 
intimated  that  if  I  would  write  an  autobiography 
they  would  read  it  when  they  got  leisure,  I  yield  at 
last  to  this  frenzied  public  demand  and  herewith  ten 
der  my  history. 

Ours  is  a  noble  old  house,  and  stretches  a  long  way 
back  into  antiquity.  The  earliest  ancestor  the  Twains 
have  any  record  of  was  a  friend  of  the  family  by  the 
name  of  Higgins.  This  was  in  the  eleventh  century, 
when  our  people  were  living  in  Aberdeen,  county  of 
Cork,  England.  Why  it  is  that  our  long  line  has  ever 
since  borne  the  maternal  name  (except  when  one  of 
them  now  and  then  took  a  playful  refuge  in  an  alias 
to  avert  foolishness),  instead  of  Higgins,  is  a  mystery 
which  none  of  us  has  ever  felt  much  desire  to  stir. 
It  is  a  kind  of  vague,  pretty  romance,  and  we  leave  it 
alone.  All  the  old  families  do  that  way. 

Arthour  Twain  was  a  man  of  considerable  note — a 
solicitor  on  the  highway  in  William  Rufus's  time. 
At  about  the  age  of  thirty  he  went  to  one  of  those 
fine  old  English  places  of  resort  called  Newgate,  to 


1 98 


The  $30,000  Bequest 


see    about    something,    and    never    returned    again. 
While  there  he  died  suddenly. 

Augustus  Twain  seems  to  have  made  something  of 
a  stir  about  the  year  1160.  He  was  as  full  of  fun  as 
he  could  be,  and  used  to  take  his  old  sabre  and  sharpen 
it  up,  and  get  in  a  convenient  place  on  a  dark  night, 
and  stick  it  through  people  as  they  went  by,  to  see 
them  jump.  He  was  a  born  humorist.  But  he  got 
to  going  too  far  with  it;  and  the  first  time  he  was 
found  stripping  one  of  these  parties,  the  authorities 
removed  one  end  of  him,  and  put  it  up  on  a  nice  high 
place  oh  Temple  Bar,  where  it  could  contemplate  the 
people  and  have  a  good  time.  He  never  liked  any 
situation  so  much  or  stuck  to  it  so  long. 

Then  for  the  next  two  hundred  years  the  family 
tree  shows  a  succession  of  soldiers— noble,  high-spirit 
ed  fellows,  who  always 
went  into  battle  sing 
ing,  right  behind  the 
army,  and  always  went 
out  a -whooping,  right 
ahead  of  it. 

This  is  a  scathing 
rebuke  to  old  dead 
Froissart's  poor  witti 
cism  that  our  family 
tree  never  had  but  one 
limb  to  it,  and  that 
that  one  stuck  out  at  right  angles,  and  bore  fruit 
winter  and  summer. 


A  Burlesque  Biography  199 

Early  in  the  fifteenth  century  we  have  Beau  Twain, 
called  "the  Scholar."  He  wrote  a  beautiful,  beauti 
ful  hand.  And  he  could  imitate  anybody's  hand  so 
closely  that  it  was  enough  to  make  a  person  laugh  his 
head  off  to  see  it.  He  had  infinite  sport  with  his 
talent.  But  by-and-by  he  took  a  contract  to  break 
stone  for  a  road,  and  the  roughness  of  the  work  spoiled 
his  hand.  Still,  he  enjoyed  life  all  the  time  he  was  in 
the  stone  business,  which,  with  inconsiderable  inter 
vals,  was  some  forty-two  years.  In  fact,  he  died  in 
harness.  During  all  those  long  years  he  gave  such 
satisfaction  that  he  never  was  through  with  one  con 
tract  a  week  till  the  government  gave  him  another. 
He  was  a  perfect  pet.  And  he  was  always  a  favorite 
with  his  fellow-artists,  and  was  a  conspicuous  mem 
ber  of  their  benevolent  secret  society,  called  the  Chain 
Gang.  He  always  wore  his  hair  short,  had  a  pref 
erence  for  striped  clothes,  and  died  lamented  by  the 
government.  He  was  a  sore  loss  to  his  country.  For 
he  was  so  regular. 

Some  years  later  we  have  the  illustrious  John  Mor 
gan  Twain.  He  came  over  to  this  country  with 
Columbus  in  1492  as  a  passenger.  He  appears  to 
have  been  of  a  crusty,  uncomfortable  disposition. 
He  complained  of  the  food  all  the  way  over,  and  was 
always  threatening  to  go  ashore  unless  there  was  a 
change.  He  wanted  fresh  shad.  Hardly  a  day 
passed  over  his  head  that  he  did  not  go  idling  about 
the  ship  with  his  nose  in  the  air,  sneering  about  the 
commander,  and  saying  he  did  not  believe  Columbus 


200  The  $3U,000  Bequest 

knew  where  he  was  going  to  or  had  ever  been  there 
before.  The  memorable  cry  of  "Land  ho!"  thrilled 
every  heart  in  the  ship  but  his.  He  gazed  a  while 
through  a  piece  of  smoked  glass  at  the  pencilled  line 
lying  on  the  distant  water,  and  then  said:  " Land  be 
hanged, — it's  a  raft!" 

When  this  questionable  passenger  came  on  board 
the  ship,  he  brought  nothing  with  him  but  an  old 
newspaper  containing  a  handkerchief  marked  "E.G.," 
one  cotton  sock  marked  "L.  W.  C.,"  one  woollen  one 
marked  "D.  P.,"  and  a  night-shirt  marked  "O.  M.  R." 
And  yet  during  the  voyage  he  worried  more  about  his 
"trunk,"  and  gave  himself  more  airs  about  it,  than 
all  the  rest  of  the  passengers  put  together.  If  the  ship 
was  "down  by  the  head,"  and  would  not  steer,  he 
would  go  and  move  his  "trunk"  farther  aft,  and  then 
watch  the  effect.  If  the  ship  was  "by  the  stern,"  he 
would  suggest  to  Columbus  to  detail  some  men  to 
"shift  that  baggage."  In  storms  he  had  to  be  gagged, 
because  his  wailings  about  his  "trunk"  made  it  im 
possible  for  the  men  to  hear  the  orders.  The  man 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  openly  charged  with 
any  gravely  unbecoming  thing,  but  it  is  noted  in  the 
ship's  log  as  a  "curious  circumstance"  that  albeit  he 
brought  his  baggage  on  board  the  ship  in  a  newspaper, 
he  took  it  ashore  in  four  trunks,  a  queensware  crate, 
and  a  couple  of  champagne  baskets.  But  when  he 
came  back  insinuating,  in  an  insolent,  swaggering  way, 
that  some  of  his  things  were  missing,  and  was  going 
to  search  the  other  passengers'  baggage,  it  was  too 


A  Burlesque  Biography  201 

much,  and  they  threw  him  overboard.  They  watched 
long  and  wondering ly  for  him  to  come  up,  but  not 
even  a  bubble  rose  on  the  quietly  ebbing  tide.  But 
while  every  one  was  most  absorbed  in  gazing  over  the 
side,  and  the  interest  was  momentarily  increasing,  it 
was  observed  with  consternation  that  the  vessel  was 
adrift  and  the  anchor -cable  hanging  limp  from  the 
bow.  Then  in  the  ship's  dimmed  and  ancient  log  we 
find  this  quaint  note: 

"In  time  it  was  discouvered  yt  ye  troblesome  pas 
senger  hadde  gonne  downe  and  got  ye  anchor,  and 
toke  ye  same  and  solde  it  to  ye  dam  sauvages  from 
ye  interior,  saying  yt  he  hadde  founde  it,  ye  sonne 
of  a  ghun!" 

Yet  this  ancestor  had  good  and  noble  instincts,  and 
it  is  with  pride  that  we  call  to  mind  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  first  white  person  who  ever  interested  himself 
in  the  work  of  elevating  and  civilizing  our  Indians. 
He  built  a  commodious  jail  and  put  up  a  gallows,  and 
to  his  dying  day  he  claimed  with  satisfaction  that  he 
had  had  a  more  restraining  and  elevating  influence 
on  the  Indians  than  any  other  reformer  that  ever 
labored  among  them.  At  this  point  the  chronicle 
becomes  less  frank  and  chatty,  and  closes  abruptly 
by  saying  that  the  old  voyager  went  to  see  his  gallows 
perform  on  the  first  white  man  ever  hanged  in  America, 
and  while  there  received  injuries  which  terminated  in 
his  death. 

The  great-grandson  of  the  "Reformer"  flourished 
in  sixteen  hundred  and  something,  and  was  known 


202  The  $30,000  Bequest 

in  our  annals  as  "the  old  Admiral,"  though  in  history 
he  had  other  titles.  He  was  long  in  command  of 
fleets  of  swift  vessels,  well  armed  and  manned,  and 
did  great  service  in  hurrying  up  merchantmen.  Ves 
sels  which  he  followed  and  kept  his  eagle  eye  on, 
always  made  good  fair  time  across  the  ocean.  But  if 
a  ship  still  loitered  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do,  his 
indignation  would  grow  till  he  could  contain  himself 
no  longer — and  then  he  would  take  that  ship  home 
where  he  lived  and  keep  it  there  carefully,  expecting 
the  owners  to  come  for  it,  but  they  never  did.  And 
he  would  try  to  get  the  idleness  and  sloth  out  of  the 
sailors  of  that  ship  by  compelling  them  to  take  in 
vigorating  exercise  and  a  bath.  He  called  it  "walk 
ing  a  plank."  All  the  pupils  liked  it.  At  any  rate 
they  never  found  any  fault  with  it  after  trying  it. 
When  the  owners  were  late  coming  for  their  ships,  the 
Admiral  always  burned  them,  so  that  the  insurance 
money  should  not  be  lost.  At  last  this  fine  old  tar 
was  cut  down  in  the  fulness  of  his  years  and  honors. 
And  to  her  dying  day,  his  poor  heart-broken  widow 
believed  that  if  he  had  been  cut  down  fifteen  minutes 
sooner  he  might  have  been  resuscitated. 

Charles  Henry  Twain  lived  during  the  latter  part 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  was  a  zealous  and 
distinguished  missionary.  He  converted  sixteen 
thousand  South  Sea  islanders,  and  taught  them  that 
a  dog-tooth  necklace  and  a  pair  of  spectacles  was  not 
enough  clothing  to  come  to  divine  service  in.  His 
poor  flock  loved  him  very,  very  dearly;  and  when  his 


A  Burlesque  Biography  203 

funeral  was  over,  they  got  up  in  a  body  (and  came 
out  of  the  restaurant)  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  and 
saying,  one  to  another,  that  he  was  a  good  tender 
missionary,  and  they  wished  they  had  some  more  of 
him. 

Pah-go-to-wah-wah-pukketekeewis  (Mighty-Hunt- 
er-with-a-Hog-Eye-Twain)  adorned  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  aided  General  Braddock  with 
all  his  heart  to  resist  the  oppressor  Washington.  It 
was  this  ancestor  who  fired  seventeen  times  at  our 
Washington  from  behind  a  tree.  So  far  the  beautiful 
romantic  narrative  in  the  moral  story-books  is  cor 
rect  ;  but  when  that  narrative  goes  on  to  say  that  at 
the  seventeenth  round  the  awe-stricken  savage  said 
solemnly  that  that  man  was  being  reserved  by  the 
Great  Spirit  for  some  mighty  mission,  and  he  dared 
not  lift  his  sacrilegious  rifle  against  him  again,  the 
narrative  seriously  impairs  the  integrity  of  history. 
What  he  did  say  was: 

"It  ain't  no  (hie)  no  use.  'At  man's  so  drunk  he 
can't  stan'  still  long  enough  for  a  man  to  hit  him.  I 
(hie)  I  can't  'ford  to  fool  away  any  more  am'nition 
on  him." 

That  was  why  he  stopped  at  the  seventeenth  round , 
and  it  was  a  good,  plain,  matter-of-fact  reason,  too, 
and  one  that  easily  commends  itself  to  us  by  the 
eloquent,  persuasive  flavor  of  probability  there  is 
about  it. 

I  always  enjoyed  the  story-book  narrative,  but  I 
felt  a  marring  misgiving  that  every  Indian  at  Brad- 


204  The  $30,000  Bequest 

dock's  Defeat  who  fired  at  a  soldier  a  couple  of  times 
(two  easily  grows  to  seventeen  in  a  century),  and 
missed  him,  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Great 
Spirit  was  reserving  that  soldier  for  some  grand 
mission;  and  so  I  somehow  feared  that  the  only 
reason  why  Washington's  case  is  remembered  and 
the  others  forgotten  is,  that  in  his  the  prophecy  came 
true,  and  in  that  of  the  others  it  didn't.  There  are 
not  books  enough  on  earth  to  contain  the  record  of 
the  prophecies  Indians  and  other  unauthorized  parties 
have  made ;  but  one  may  carry  in  his  overcoat-pockets 
the  record  of  all  the  prophecies  that  have  been  fulfilled. 
I  will  remark  here,  in  passing,  that  certain  ancestors 
of  mine  are  so  thoroughly  well-known  in  history  by 
their  aliases,  that  I  have  not  felt  it  to  be  worth  while 
to  dwell  upon  them,  or  even  mention  them  in  the 
order  of  their  birth.  Among  these  may  be  mentioned 
Richard  Brinsley  Twain,  alias  Guy  Fawkes;  John 
Wentworth  Twain,  alias  Sixteen-String  Jack;  Will 
iam  Hogarth  Twain,  alias  Jack  Sheppard;  Ananias 
Twain,  alias  Baron  Munchausen;  John  George  Twain, 
alias  Captain  Kydd ;  and  then  there  are  George  Francis 
Train,  Tom  Pepper,  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  Baalam's 
Ass — they  all  belong  to  our  family,  but  to  a  branch 
of  it  somewhat  distinctly  removed  from  the  honorable 
direct  line — in  fact,  a  collateral  branch,  whose  mem 
bers  chiefly  differ  from  the  ancient  stock  in  that,  in 
order  to  acquire  the  notoriety  we  have  always  yearned 
and  hungered  for,  they  have  got  into  a  low  way  of 
going  to  jail  instead  of  getting  hanged. 


A  Burlesque  Biography  205 

It  is  not  well,  when  writing  an  autobiography,  to 
follow  your  ancestry  down  too  close  to  your  own  time 
— it  is  safest  to  speak  only  vaguely  of  your  great 
grandfather,  and  then  skip  from  there  to  yourself, 
which  I  now  do. 

I  was  born  without  teeth — and  there  Richard  III. 
had  the  advantage  of  me;  but  I  was  born  without  a 
humpback,  likewise,  and  there  I  had  the  advantage 
of  him.  My  parents  were  neither  very  poor  nor  con 
spicuously  honest. 

But  now  a  thought  occurs  to  me.  My  own  history 
would  really  seem  so  tame  contrasted  with  that  of  my 
ancestors,  that  it  is  simply  wisdom  to  leave  it  un 
written  until  I  am  hanged.  If  some  other  biographies 
I  have  read  had  stopped  with  the  ancestry  until  a  like 
event  occurred,  it  would  have  been  a  felicitous  thing 
for  the  reading  public.  How  does  it  strike  you? 


GENERAL  WASHINGTON'S    NEGRO 
BODY-SERVANT 


A    BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH 

THE  stirring  part  of  this  celebrated  colored  man's 
life  properly  began  with  his  death  —  that  is  to 
say,  the  notable  features  of  his  biography  begin  with 
the  first  time  he  died.  He  had  been  little  heard  of 
up  to  that  time,  but  since  then  we  have  never  ceased 
to  hear  of  him ;  we  have  never  ceased  to  hear  of  him 
at  stated,  unfailing  intervals.  His  was  a  most  re 
markable  career,  and  I  have  thought  that  its  history 
would  make  a  valuable  addition  to  our  biographical 
literature.  Therefore,  I  have  carefully  collated  the 
materials  for  such  a  work,  from  authentic  sources, 
and  here  present  them  to  the  public.  I  have  rigidly 
excluded  from  these  pages  everything  of  a  doubtful 
character,  with  the  object  in  view  of  introducing  my 
work  into  the  schools  for  the  instruction  of  the  youth 
of  my  country. 

The  name  of  the  famous  body-servant  of  General 
Washington  was  George.  After  serving  his  illustrious 
master  faithfully  for  half  a  century,  and  enjoying 
throughout  this  long  term  his  high  regard  and  confi- 


General  Washington's  Negro  Body-Servant   207 

dence,  it  became  his  sorrowful  duty  at  last  to  lay  that 
beloved  master  to  rest  in  his  peaceful  grave  by  the 
Potomac.  Ten  years  afterwards  —  in  1809  —  full  of 
years  and  honors,  he  died  himself,  mourned  by  all 
who  knew  him.  The  Boston  Gazette  of  that  date  thus 
refers  to  the  event: 

"  George,  the  favorite  body-servant  of  the  lamented 
Washington,  died  in  Richmond,  Va.,  last  Tuesday,  at 
the  ripe  age  of  95  years.  His  intellect  was  unimpaired, 
and  his  memory  tenacious,  up  to  within  a  few  minutes  of 
his  decease.  He  was  present  at  the  second  installation 
of  Washington  as  President,  and  also  at  his  funeral,  and 
distinctly  remembered  all  the  prominent  incidents  con 
nected  with  those  noted  events." 

From  this  period  we  hear  no  more  of  the  favorite 
body-servant  of  General  Washington  until  May,  1825, 
at  which  time  he  died  again.  A  Philadelphia  paper 
thus  speaks  of  the  sad  occurrence: 

"At  Macon,  Ga.,  last  week,  a  colored  man  named 
George,  who  was  the  favorite  body- servant  of  General 
Washington,  died,  at  the  advanced  age  of  95  years. 
Up  to  within  a  few  hours  of  his  dissolution  he  was  in 
full  possession  of  all  his  faculties,  and  could  distinctly 
recollect  the  second  installation  of  Washington,  his 
death  and  burial,  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis,  the  bat 
tle  of  Trenton,  the  griefs  and  hardships  of  Valley  Forge, 
etc.  Deceased  was  followed  to  the  grave  by  the  entire 
population  of  Macon." 

On  the  Fourth  of  July,  1830,  and  also  of  1834  and 
1836,  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was  exhibited  in  great 
state  upon  the  rostrum  of  the  orator  of  the  day,  and 


208  The  $30,000  Bequest 

in  November  of  1840  he  died  again.  The  St.  Louis 
Republican  of  the  25th  of  that  month  spoke  as 
follows : 

"ANOTHER    RELIC    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 
GONE 

"George,  once  the  favorite  body-servant  of  General 
Washington,  died  yesterday  at  the  house  of  Mr.  John 
Leaven  worth,  in  this  city,  at  the  venerable  age  of  95 
years.  He  was  in  the  full  possession  of  his  faculties  up 
to  the  hour  of  his  death,  and  distinctly  recollected  the 
first  and  second  installations  and  death  of  President 
Washington,  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis,  the  battles 
of  Trenton  and  Monmouth,  the  sufferings  of  the  patriot 
army  at  Valley  Forge,  the  proclamation  of  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence,  the  speech  of  Patrick  Henry  in 
the  Virginia  House  of  Delegates,  and  many  other  old- 
time  reminiscences  of  stirring  interest.  Few  white  men 
die  lamented  as  was  this  aged  negro.  The  funeral  was 
very  largely  attended." 

During  the  next  ten  or  eleven  years  the  subject  of 
this  sketch  appeared  at  intervals  at  Fourth-of-July 
celebrations  in  various  parts  of  the  country,  and  was 
exhibited  upon  the  rostrum  with  flattering  success. 
But  in  the  fall  of  1855  he  died  again.  The  California 
papers  thus  speak  of  the  event: 

"ANOTHER    OLD    HERO    GONE 

"Died,  at  Dutch  Flat,  on  the  yth  of  March,  George 
(once  the  confidential  body-servant  of  General  Washing 
ton),  at  the  great  age  of  95  years.  His  memory,  which 
did  not  fail  him  till  the  last,  was  a  wonderful  storehouse 


General  Washington's  Negro  Body-Servant    209 

of  interesting  reminiscences.  He  could  distinctly  rec 
ollect  the  first  and  second  installations  and  death  of 
President  Washington,  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis,  the 
battles  of  Trenton  and  Monmouth,  and  Bunker  Hill, 
the  proclamation  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
and  Braddock's  Defeat.  George  was  greatly  respected 
in  Dutch  Flat,  and  it  is  estimated  that  there  were 
10,000  people  present  at  his  funeral." 

The  last  time  the  subject  of  this  sketch  died  was 
in  June,  1864;  and  until  we  learn  the  contrary,  it  is 
just  to  presume  that  he  died  permanently  this  time. 
The  Michigan  papers  thus  refer  to  the  sorrowful  event: 

"ANOTHER  CHERISHED  REMNANT  OF  THE 
REVOLUTION  GONE 

"George,  a  colored  man,  and  once  the  favorite  body- 
servant  of  General  Washington,  died  in  Detroit  last 
week,  at  the  patriarchal  age  of  95  years.  To  the  moment 
of  his  death  his  intellect  was  unclouded,  and  he  could 
distinctly  remember  the  first  and  second  installations 
and  death  of  Washington,  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis, 
the  battles  of  Trenton  and  Monmouth,  and  Bunker  Hill, 
trie  proclamation  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
Braddock's  Defeat,  the  throwing  over  of  the  tea  in  Bos 
ton  harbor,  and  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims.  He  died 
greatly  respected,  and  was  followed  to  the  grave  by  a 
vast  concourse  of  people." 

The  faithful  old  servant  is  gone!  We  shall  never 
see  him  more  until  he  turns  up  again.  He  has  closed 
his  long  and  splendid  career  of  dissolution,  for  the 
present,  and  sleeps  peacefully,  as  only  they  sleep  who 


210  The  $30,000  Bequest 

have  earned  their  rest.  He  was  in  all  respects  a 
remarkable  man.  He  held  his  age  better  than  any 
celebrity  that  has  figured  in  history;  and  the  longer 
he  lived  the  stronger  and  longer  his  memory  grew. 
If  he  lives  to  die  again,  he  will  distinctly  recollect  the 
discovery  of  America. 

The  above  re'sume'  of  his  biography  I  believe  to  be 
substantially  correct,  although  it  is  possible  that  he 
may  have  died  once  or  twice  in  obscure  places  where 
the  event  failed  of  newspaper  notoriety.  One  fault  I 
find  in  all  notices  of  his  death  which  I  have  quoted, 
and  this  ought  to  be  corrected.  In  them  he  uniformly 
and  impartially  died  at  the  age  of  95.  This  could  not 
have  been.  He  might  have  done  that  once,  or  maybe 
twice,  but  he  could  not  have  continued  it  indefinitely. 
Allowing  that  when  he  first  died,  he  died  at  the  age 
of  95,  he  was  151  years  old  when  he  died  last,  in  1864. 
But  his  age  did  not  keep  pace  with  his  recollections. 
When  he  died  the  last  time,  he  distinctly  remembered 
the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  which  took  place  in  1620. 
He  must  have  been  about  twenty  years  old  when  he 
witnessed  that  event,  wherefore  it  is  safe  to  assert 
that  the  body-servant  of  General  Washington  was  in 
the  neighborhood  of  two  hundred  and  sixty  or  seventy 
years  old  when  he  departed  this  life  finally. 

Having  waited  a  proper  length  of  time,  to  see  if  the 
subject  of  this  sketch  had  gone  from  us  reliably  and 
irrevocably,  I  now  publish  his  biography  with  con 
fidence,  and  respectfully  offer  it  to  a  mourning 
nation. 


General  Washington's  Negro  Body-Servant    211 

P.  S. — I  see  by  the  papers  that  this  infamous  old 
fraud  has  just  died  again,  in  Arkansas.  This  makes 
six  times  that  he  is  known  to  have  died,  and  always 
in  a  new  place.  The  death  of  Washington's  body- 
servant  has  ceased  to  be  a  novelty ;  its  charm  is  gone ; 
the  people  are  tired  of  it;  let  it  cease.  This  well- 
meaning  but  misguided  negro  has  now  put  six  differ 
ent  communities  to  the  expense  of  burying  him  in 
state,  and  has  swindled  tens  of  thousands  of  people 
into  following  him  to  the  grave  under  the  delusion 
that  a  select  and  peculiar  distinction  was  being  con- 
feired  upon  them.  Let  him  stay  buried  for  good 
now;  and  let  that  newspaper  suffer  the  severest 
censure  that  shall  ever,  in  all  future  time,  publish  to 
the  world  that  General  Washington's  favorite  colored 
body-servant  has  died  again. 


WIT   INSPIRATIONS   OF   THE   "TWO- 
YEAR-OLDS" 


ALL  infants  appear  to  have  an  impertinent  and 
/I  disagreeable  fashion  nowadays  of  saying  "  smart" 
things  on  most  occasions  that  offer,  and  especially  on 
occasions  when  they  ought  not  to  be  saying  anything 
at  all.  Judging  by  the  average  published  specimens 
of  smart  sayings,  the  rising  generation  of  children  are 
little  better  than  idiots.  And  the  parents  must  surely 
be  but  little  better  than  the  children,  for  in  most  cases 
they  are  the  publishers  of  the  sunbursts  of  infantile 
imbecility  which  dazzle  us  from  the  pages  of  our 
periodicals.  I  may  seem  to  speak  with  some  heat, 
not  to  say  a  suspicion  of  personal  spite;  and  I  do 
admit  that  it  nettles  me  to  hear  about  so  many  gifted 
infants  in  these  days,  and  remember  that  I  seldom 
said  anything  smart  when  I  was  a  child.  I  tried  it 
once  or  twice,  but  it  was  not  popular.  The  family 
were  not  expecting  brilliant  remarks  from  me,  and 
so  they  snubbed  me  sometimes  and  spanked  me  the 
rest.  But  it  makes  my  flesh  creep  and  my  blood  run 
cold  to  think  what  might  have  happened  to  me  if  I 
had  dared  to  utter  some  of  the  smart  things  of  this 


Wit  Inspirations  of  the  "  Two- Year-Olds  "    213 

generation's  "four-year-olds"  where  my  father  could 
hear  me.  To  have  simply  skinned  me  alive  and  con 
sidered  his  duty  at  an  end  would  have  seemed  to  him 
criminal  leniency  towards  one  so  sinning.  He  was  a 
stern  unsmiling  man,  and  hated  all  forms  of  precoc 
ity.  If  I  had  said  some  of  the  things  I  have  referred 
to,  and  said  them  in  his  hearing,  he  would  have  de 
stroyed  me.  He  would,  indeed.  He  would,  provided 
the  opportunity  remained  with  him.  But  it  would 
not,  for  I  would  have  had  judgment  enough  to  take 
some  strychnine  first  and  say  my  smart  thing  after 
wards.  The  fair  record  of  my  life  has  been  tarnished 
by  just  one  pun.  My  father  overheard  that,  and  he 
hunted  me  over  four  or  five  townships  seeking  to  take 
my  life.  If  I  had  been  full-grown,  of  course  he  would 
have  been  right;  but,  child  as  I  was,  I  could  not  know 
how  wicked  a  thing  I  had  done. 

I  made  one  of  those  remarks  ordinarily  called 
"smart  things"  before  that,  but  it  was  not  a  pun. 
Still,  it  came  near  causing  a  serious  rupture  between 
my  father  and  myself.  My  father  and  mother,  my 
uncle  Ephraim  and  his  wife,  and  one  or  two  others 
were  present,  and  the  conversation  turned  on  a  name 
for  me.  I  was  lying  there  trying  some  India-rubber 
rings  of  various  patterns,  and  endeavoring  to  make  a 
selection,  for  I  was  tired  of  trying  to  cut  my  teeth 
on  people's  fingers,  and  wanted  to  get  hold  of  some 
thing  that  would  enable  me  to  hurry  the  thing  through 
and  get  something  else.  Did  you  ever  notice  what  a 
nuisance  it  was  cutting  your  teeth  on  your  nurse's 


2U  The  $30,000  Bequest 

finger,  or  how  back-breaking  and  tiresome  it  was  try 
ing  to  cut  them  on  your  big  toe?  And  did  you  never 
get  out  of  patience  and  wish  your  teeth  were  in 
Jericho  long  before  you  got  them  half  cut?  To  me 
it  seems  as  if  these  things  happened  yesterday.  And 
they  did,  to  some  children.  But  I  digress.  I  was 
lying  there  trying  the  India-rubber  rings.  I  remem 
ber  looking  at  the  clock  and  noticing  that  in  an  hour 
and  twenty-five  minutes  I  would  be  two  weeks  old, 
and  thinking  how  little  I  had  done  to  merit  the  bless 
ings  that  were  so  unsparingly  lavished  upon  me.  My 
father  said : 

"Abraham  is  a  good  name.     My  grandfather  was 
named  Abraham." 

My  mother  said: 

"Abraham  is  a  good   name.     Very  well.     Let  us 
have  Abraham  for  one  of  his  names." 

I  said : 

"Abraham  suits  the  subscriber." 

My   father   frowned,   my   mother   looked   pleased; 
my  aunt  said: 

"What  a  little  darling  it  is!" 

My  father  said: 

"Isaac  is    a    good    name,    and   Jacob   is    a   good 
name." 

My  mother  assented,  and  said: 

"No   names   are   better.     Let   us   add    Isaac   and 
Jacob  to  his  names." 

I  said: 

!<A11  right.     Isaac  and  Jacob  are  good  enough  for 


Wit  Inspirations  of  the  ••  Two-Year-Olds  "     215 

yours  truly.  Pass  me  that  rattle,  if  you  please.  I 
can't  chew  India-rubber  rings  all  day." 

Not  a  soul  made  a  memorandum  of  these  sayings 
of  mine,  for  publication.  I  saw  that,  and  did  it 
myself,  else  they  would  have  been  utterly  lost.  So 
far  from  meeting  with  a  generous  encouragement  like 
other  children  when  developing  intellectually,  I  was 
now  furiously  scowled  upon  by  my  father ;  my  mother 
looked  grieved  and  anxious,  and  even  my  aunt  had 
about  her  an  expression  of  seeming  to  think  that 
maybe  I  had  gone  too  far.  I  took  a  vicious  bite  out 
of  an  India-rubber  ring,  and  covertly  broke  the  rattle 
over  the  kitten's  head,  but  said  nothing.  Presently 
my  father  said : 

"Samuel  is  a  very  excellent  name." 

I  saw  that  trouble  was  coming.  Nothing  could 
prevent  it.  I  laid  down  my  rattle;  over  the  side  of 
the  cradle  I  dropped  my  uncle's  silver  watch,  the 
clothes-brush,  the  toy  dog,  my  tin  soldier,  the  nut 
meg-grater,  and  other  matters  which  I  was  accus 
tomed  to  examine,  and  meditate  upon  and  make 
pleasant  noises  with,  and  bang  and  batter  and  break 
when  I  needed  wholesome  entertainment.  Then  I 
put  on  my  little  frock  and  my  little  bonnet,  and  took 
my  pygmy  shoes  in  one  hand  and  my  licorice  in  the 
other,  and  climbed  out  on  the  floor.  I  said  to  myself, 
Now,  if  the  worst  comes  to  worst,  I  am  ready.  Then 
I  said  aloud,  in  a  firm  voice: 

"Father,  I  cannot,  cannot  wear  the  name  of 
Samuel." 


2\b  The  $30,000  Bequest 

"My  son!" 

"Father,  I  mean  it.     I  cannot." 

"Why?" 

"Father,  I  have  an  invincible  antipathy  to  that 
name." 

"My  son,  this  is  unreasonable.  Many  great  and 
good  men  have  been  named  Samuel." 

"Sir,  I  have  yet  to  hear  of  the  first  instance." 

"What!  There  was  Samuel  the  prophet.  Was 
not  he  great  and  good  ?" 

"Not  so  very." 

"My  son!  With  His  own  voice  the  Lord  called 
him." 

"Yes,  sir,  and  had  to  call  him  a  couple  of  times 
before  he  would  come!" 

And  then  I  sallied  forth,  and  that  stern  old  man 
sallied  forth  after  me.  He  overtook  me  at  noon  the 
following  day,  and  when  the  interview  was  over  I  had 
acquired  the  name  of  Samuel,  and  a  thrashing,  and 
other  useful  information ;  and  by  means  of  this  com 
promise  my  father's  wrath  was  appeased  and  a  mis 
understanding  bridged  over  which  might  have  become 
a  permanent  rupture  if  I  had  chosen  to  be  unreason 
able.  But  just  judging  by  this  episode,  what  would 
my  father  have  done  to  me  if  I  had  ever  uttered  in 
his  hearing  one  of  the  flat,  sickly  things  these  "two- 
year-olds"  say  in  print  nowadays?  In  my  opinion 
there  would  have  been  a  case  of  infanticide  in  our 
family. 


AN   ENTERTAINING  ARTICLE 


I  TAKE  the  following  paragraph  from  an  article  in 
the  Boston  Advertiser: 

"AN    ENGLISH    CRITIC    ON    MARK   TWAIN 

"Perhaps  the  most  successful  nights  of  the  humor  of 
Mark  Twain  have  been  descriptions  of  the  persons  who 
did  not  appreciate  his  humor  at  all.  We  have  become 
familiar  with  the  Californians  who  were  thrilled  with 
terror  by  his  burlesque  of  a  newspaper  reporter's  way 
of  telling  a  story,  and  we  have  heard  of  the  Pennsylvania 
clergyman  who  sadly  returned  his  Innocents  Abroad  to 
the  book-agent  with  the  remark  that  '  the  man  who  could 
shed  tears  over  the  tomb  of  Adam  must  be  an  idiot.' 
But  Mark  Twain  may  now  add  a  much  more  glorious 
instance  to  his  string  of  trophies.  The  Saturday  Review, 
in  its  number  of  October  8th,  reviews  his  book  of  travels, 
which  has  been  republished  in  England,  and  reviews  it 
seriously.  We  can  imagine  the  delight  of  the  humorist 
in  reading  this  tribute  to  his  power;  and  indeed  it  is  so 
amusing  in  itself  that  he  can  hardly  do  better  than  re 
produce  the  article  in  full  in  his  next  monthly  Memo 
randa." 

(Publishing  the  above  paragraph  thus,  gives  me  a 
sort  of  authority  for  reproducing  the  Saturday  Re 
view's  article  in  full  in  these  pages.  I  dearly  wanted 


218  The  $30,000  Bequest 

to  do  it,  for  I  cannot  write  anything  half  so  delicious 
myself.  If  I  had  a  cast-iron  dog  that  could  read  this 
English  criticism  and  preserve  his  austerity,  I  would 
drive  him  off  the  door-step.) 

(From  the  London  "Saturday  Review"} 

"REVIEWS    OF    NEW    BOOKS 

"THE  INNOCENTS  ABROAD.  A  Book  of  Travels.  By 
Mark  Twain.  London:  Hotten,  publisher.  1870. 

"Lord  Macaulay  died  too  soon.  We  never  felt  this 
so  deeply  as  when  we  finished  the  last  chapter  of  the 
above-named  extravagant  work.  Macaulay  died  too 
soon — for  none  but  he  could  mete  out  complete  and 
comprehensive  justice  to  the  insolence,  the  impertinence, 
the  presumption,  the  mendacity,  and,  above  all,  the 
majestic  ignorance  of  this  author. 

"To  say  that  the  Innocents  Abroad  is  a  curious  book, 
would  be  to  use  the  faintest  language — would  be  to 
speak  of  the  Matterhorn  as  a  neat  elevation  or  of 
Niagara  as  being  'nice'  or  'pretty.'  'Curious'  is  too 
tame  a  word  wherewith  to  describe  the  imposing  insanity 
of  this  work.  There  is  no  word  that  is  large  enough  or 
long  enough.  Let  us,  therefore,  photograph  a  passing 
glimpse  of  book  and  author,  and  trust  the  rest  to  the 
reader.  Let  the  cultivated  English  student  of  human 
nature  picture  to  himself  this  Mark  Twain  as  a  person 
capable  of  doing  the  following-described  things — and  not 
only  doing  them,  but  with  incredible  innocence  printing 
them  calmly  and  tranquilly  in  a  book.  For  instance: 

"He  states  that  he  entered  a  hair-dresser's  in  Paris 
to  get  shaved,  and  the  first  '  rake '  the  barber  gave  with 
his  razor  it  loosened  his  'hide*  and  lifted  him  out  of  the 
chair. 

"This  is  unquestionably  exaggerated.     In   Florence 


An  Entertaining  Article  219 

he  was  so  annoyed  by  beggars  that  he  pretends  to  have 
seized  and  eaten  one  in  a  frantic  spirit  of  revenge.  There 
is,  of  course,  no  truth  in  this.  He  gives  at  full  length  a 
theatrical  programme  seventeen  or  eighteen  hundred 
years  old,  which  he  professes  to  have  found  in  the  ruins 
of  the  Coliseum,  among  the  dirt  and  mould  and  rubbish. 
It  is  a  sufficient  comment  upon  this  statement  to  remark 
that  even  a  cast-iron  programme  would  not  have  lasted 
so  long  under  such  circumstances.  In  Greece  he  plainly 
betrays  both  fright  and  flight  upon  one  occasion,  but 
with  frozen  effrontery  puts  the  latter  in  this  falsely  tame 
form :  '  We  sidled  towards  the  Piraeus. '  '  Sidled, '  indeed ! 
He  does  not  hesitate  to  intimate  that  at  Ephesus,  when 
his  mule  strayed  from  the  proper  course,  he  got  down, 
took  him  under  his  arm,  carried  him  to  the  road  again, 
pointed  him  right,  remounted,  and  went  to  sleep  con 
tentedly  till  it  was  time  to  restore  the  beast  to  the  path 
once  more.  He  states  that  a  growing  youth  among  his 
ship's  passengers  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  appeasing 
his  hunger  with  soap  and  oakum  between  meals.  In 
Palestine  he  tells  of  ants  that  came  eleven  miles  to  spend 
the  summer  in  the  desert  and  brought  their  provisions 
with  them ;  yet  he  shows  by  his  description  of  the  coun 
try  that  the  feat  was  an  impossibility.  He  mentions,  as 
if  it  were  the  most  commonplace  of  matters,  that  he  cut 
a  Moslem  in  two  in  broad  daylight  in  Jerusalem,  with 
Godfrey  de  Bouillon's  sword,  and  would  have  shed  more 
blood  if  he  had  had  a  graveyard  of  his  awn.  These  state 
ments  are  unworthy  a  moment's  attention.  Mr.  Twain 
or  any  other  foreigner  who  did  such  a  thing  in  Jerusalem 
would  be  mobbed,  and  would  infallibly  lose  his  life. 
But  why  go  on  ?  Why  repeat  more  of  his  audacious  and 
exasperating  falsehoods  ?  Let  us  close  fittingly  with  this 
one:  he  affirms  that  'in  the  mosque  of  St.  Sophia  at 
Constantinople  I  got  my  feet  so  stuck  up  with  a  com 
plication  of  gums,  slime,  and  general  impurity,  that  I 


220  The  $30,000  Bequest 

wore  out  more  than  two  thousand  pair  of  bootjacks 
getting  my  boots  off  that  night,  and  even  then  some 
Christian  hide  peeled  off  with  them.'  It  is  monstrous. 
Such  statements  are  simply  lies — there  is  no  other  name 
for  them.  Will  the  reader  longer  marvel  at  the  brutal 
ignorance  that  pervades  the  American  nation  when  we 
tell  him  that  we  are  informed  upon  perfectly  good  au 
thority  that  this  extravagant  compilation  of  falsehoods, 
this  exhaustless  mine  of  stupendous  lies,  this  Innocents 
Abroad,  has  actually  been  adopted  by  the  schools  and 
colleges  of  several  of  the  States  as  a  text-book! 

"But  if  his  falsehoods  are  distressing,  his  innocence 
and  his  ignorance  are  enough  to  make  one  burn  the  book 
and  despise  the  author.  In  one  place  he  was  so  appalled 
at  the  sudden  spectacle  of  a  murdered  man,  unveiled  by 
the  moonlight,  that  he  jumped  out  of  the  window,  going 
through  sash  and  all,  and  then  remarks  with  the  most 
childlike  simplicity  that  he  'was  not  scared,  but  was 
considerably  agitated.'  It  puts  us  out  of  patience  to 
note  that  the  simpleton  is  densely  unconscious  that 
Lucrezia  Borgia  ever  existed  off  the  stage.  He  is  vul 
garly  ignorant  of  all  foreign  languages,  but  is  frank 
enough  to  criticise  the  Italians'  use  of  their  own  tongue. 
He  says  they  spell  the  name  of  their  great  painter  '  Vinci, 
but  pronounce  it  Vinchy ' — and  then  adds  with  a  naivete 
possible  only  to  helpless  ignorance,  'foreigners  always 
spell  better  than  they  pronounce.'  In  another  place  he 
commits  the  bald  absurdity  of  putting  the  phrase  'tare 
an  ouns'  into  an  Italian's  mouth.  In  Rome  he  unhesi 
tatingly  believes  the  legend  that  St.  Philip  Neri's  heart 
was  so  inflamed  with  divine  love  that  it  burst  his  ribs — 
believes  it  wholly  because  an  author  with  a  learned  list  of 
university  degrees  strung  after  his  name  endorses  it — 
'otherwise,'  says  this  gentle  idiot,  'I  should  have  felt  a 
curiosity  to  know  what  Philip  had  for  dinner.'  Our 
author  makes  a  long,  fatiguing  journey  to  the  Grotto  del 


An  Entertaining  Article  221 

Cane  on  purpose  to  test  its  poisoning  powers  on  a  dog — 
got  elaborately  ready  for  the  experiment,  and  then  dis 
covered  that  he  had  no  dog.  A  wiser  person  would  have 
kept  such  a  thing  discreetly  to  himself,  but  with  this 
harmless  creature  everything  comes  out.  He  hurts  his 
foot  in  a  rut  two  thousand  years  old  in  exhumed  Pompeii, 
and  presently,  when  staring  at  one  of  the  cinder-like 
corpses  unearthed  in  the  next  square,  conceives  the  idea 
that  may  be  it  is  the  remains  of  the  ancient  Street  Com 
missioner,  and  straightway  his  horror  softens  down  to 
a  sort  of  chirpy  contentment  with  the  condition  of 
things.  In  Damascus  he  visits  the  well  of  Ananias, 
three  thousand  years  old,  and  is  as  surprised  and  delight 
ed  as  a  child  to  find  that  the  water  is  '  as  pure  and  fresh 
as  if  the  well  had  been  dug  yesterday.'  In  the  Holy 
Land  he  gags  desperately  at  the  hard  Arabic  and  Hebrew 
Biblical  names,  and  finally  concludes  to  call  them  Bald- 
winsville,  Williamsburgh,  and  so  on,  'for  convenience  of 
spelling.' 

"  We  have  thus  spoken  freely  of  this  man's  stupefying 
simplicity  and  innocence,  but  we  cannot  deal  similarly 
with  his  colossal  ignorance.  We  do  not  know  where  to 
begin.  And  if  we  knew  where  to  begin,  we  certainly 
would  not  know  where  to  leave  off.  We  will  give  one 
specimen,  and  one  only.  He  did  not  know,  until  he  got 
to  Rome,  that  Michael  Angelo  was  dead!  And  then, 
instead  of  crawling  away  and  hiding  his  shameful  igno 
rance  somewhere,  he  proceeds  to  express  a  pious,  grate 
ful  sort  of  satisfaction  that  he  is  gone  and  out  of  his 
troubles ! 

"No,  the  reader  may  seek  out  the  author's  exhibition 
of  his  uncultivation  for  himself.  The  book  is  absolutely 
dangerous,  considering  the  magnitude  and  variety  of  its 
misstatements,  and  the  convincing  confidence  with  which 
they  are  made.  And  yet  it  is  a  text-book  in  the  schools 
of  America. 


222  The  $30,000  Bequest 

The  poor  blunderer  mouses  among  the  sublime  crea 
tions  of  the  Old  Masters,  trying  to  acquire  the  elegant 
proficiency  in  art-knowledge,  which  he  has  a  groping 
sort  of  comprehension  is  a  proper  thing  for  the  travelled 
man  to  be  able  to  display.  But  what  is  the  manner  of 
his  study  ?  And  what  is  the  progress  he  achieves  ?  To 
what  extent  does  he  familiarize  himself  with  the  great 
pictures  of  Italy,  and  what  degree  of  appreciation  does 
he  arrive  at  ?  Read : 

When  we  see  a  monk  going  about  with  a  lion  and 
looking  up  into  heaven,  we  know  that  that  is  St.  Mark. 
When  we  see  a  monk  with  a  book  and  a  pen,  looking 
tranquilly  up  to  heaven,  trying  to  think  of  a  word,  we 
know  that  that  is  St.  Matthew.  When  we  see  a  monk 
sitting  on  a  rock,  looking  tranquilly  up  to  heaven,  with 
a  human  skull  beside  him,  and  without  other  baggage, 
we  know  that  that  is  St.  Jerome.  Because  we  know 
that  he  always  went  flying  light  in  the  matter  of  bag 
gage.  When  we  see  other  monks  looking  tranquilly  up 
to  heaven,  but  having  no  trade-mark,  we  always  ask 
who  those  parties  are.  We  do  this  because  we  humbly 
wish  to  learn.' 

' '  He  then  enumerates  the  thousands  and  thousands 
of  copies  of  these  several  pictures  which  he  has  seen,  and 
adds  with  accustomed  simplicity  that  he  feels  encouraged 
to  believe  that  when  he  has  seen  'Some  More'  of  each, 
and  had  a  larger  experience,  he  will  eventually  'begin 
to  take  an  absorbing  interest  in  them ' — the  vulgar  boor. 

"That  we  have  shown  this  to  be  a  remarkable  book, 
we  think  no  one  will  deny.  That  it  is  a  pernicious  .book 
to  place  in  the  hands  of  the  confiding  and  uninformed,  we 
think  we  have  also  shown.  That  the  book  is  a  deliberate 
and  wicked  creation  of  a  diseased  mind,  is  apparent  upon 
every  page.  Having  placed  our  judgment  thus  upon 
record,  let  us  close  with  what  charity  we  can,  by  re 
marking  that  even  in  this  volume  there  is  some  good  to 


An  Entertaining  Article  223 

be  found;  for  whenever  the  author  talks  of  his  own 
country  and  lets  Europe  alone,  he  never  fails  to  make 
himself  interesting,  and  not  only  interesting,  but  in 
structive.  No  one  can  read  without  benefit  his  occa 
sional  chapters  and  paragraphs,  about  life  in  the  gold 
and  silver  mines  of  California  and  Nevada;  about  the 
Indians  of  the  plains  and  deserts  of  the  West,  and  their 
cannibalism;  about  the  raising  of  vegetables  in  kegs  of 
gunpowder  by  the  aid  of  two  or  three  teaspoonfuls  of 
guano;  about  the  moving  of  small  farms  from  place  to 
place  at  night  in  wheelbarrows  to  avoid  taxes ;  and  about 
a  sort  of  cows  and  mules  in  the  Humboldt  mines,  that 
climb  down  chimneys  and  disturb  the  people  at  night. 
These  matters  are  not  only  new,  but  are  well  worth  know 
ing.  It  is  a  pity  the  author  did  not  put  in  more  of  the 
same  kind.  His  book  is  well  written  and  is  exceedingly 
entertaining,  and  so  it  just  barely  escaped  being  quite 
valuable  also." 

(One  month  later) 

Latterly  I  have  received  several  letters,  and  see  a 
number  of  newspaper  paragraphs,  all  upon  a  certain 
subject,  and  all  of  about  the  same  tenor.  I  here  give 
honest  specimens.  One  is  from  a  New  York  paper, 
one  is  from  a  letter  from  an  old  friend,  and  one  is  from 
a  letter  from  a  New  York  publisher  who  is  a  stranger 
to  me.  I  humbly  endeavor  to  make  these  bits  tooth- 
sorrfe  with  the  remark  that  the  article  they  are  prais 
ing  (which  appeared  in  the  December  Galaxy,  and 
pretended  to  be  a  criticism  from  the  London  Saturday 
Review  on  my  Innocents  Abroad}  was  written  by  myselj, 
every  line  of  it  : 

"The  Herald  says  the  richest  thing  out  is  the  'serious 
critique '  in  the  London  Saturday  Review,  on  Mark 


224  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Twain's  Innocents  Abroad.  We  thought  before  we  read 
it  that  it  must  be  'serious,'  as  everybody  said  so,  and 
were  even  ready  to  shed  a  few  tears ;  but  since  perusing 
it,  we  are  bound  to  confess  that  next  to  Mark  Twain's 
'Jumping  Frog'  it's  the  finest  bit  of  humor  and  sarcasm 
that  we've  come  across  in  many  a  day." 

(I  do  not  get  a  compliment  like  that  every  day.) 

"I  used  to  think  that  your  writings  were  pretty  good, 
but  after  reading  the  criticism  in  The  Galaxy  from  the 
London  Review,  have  discovered  what  an  ass  I  must 
have  been.  If  suggestions  are  in  order,  mine  is,  that 
you  put  that  article  in  your  next  edition  of  the  Innocents, 
as  an  extra  chapter,  if  you  are  not  afraid  to  put  your 
own  humor  in  competition  with  it.  It  is  as  rich  a  thing 
as  I  ever  read." 


(Which  is  strong  commendation  from  a  book  pub 
lisher.) 

"The  London  Reviewer,  my  friend,  is  not  the  stupid, 
'serious'  creature  he  pretends  to  be,  /  think;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  has  a  keen  appreciation  and  enjoyment  of 
your  book.  As  I  read  his  article  in  The  Galaxy,  I  could 
imagine  him  giving  vent  to  many  a  hearty  laugh.  But 
he  is  writing  for  Catholics  and  Established  Church  peo 
ple,  and  high-toned,  antiquated,  conservative  gentility, 
whom  it  is  a  delight  to  him  to  help  you  shock,  while  he 
pretends  to  shake  his  head  with  owlish  density.  He  is 
a  magnificent  humorist  himself." 

(Now  that  is  graceful  and  handsome.  I  take  off 
my  hat  to  my  life-long  friend  and  comrade,  and  with 
my  feet  together  and  my  fingers  spread  over  my 


An  Entertaining  Article  225 

heart,  I  say,  in  the  language  of  Alabama,  "You  do 
me  proud.") 

I  stand  guilty  of  the  authorship  of  the  article,  but 
I  did  not  mean  any  harm.  I  saw  by  an  item  in  the 
Boston  Advertiser  that  a  solemn,  serious  critique  on 
the  English  edition  of  my  book  had  appeared  in  the 
London  Saturday  Review,  and  the  idea  of  such  a 
literary  breakfast  by  a  stolid,  ponderous  British  ogre 
of  the  quill  was  too  much  for  a  naturally  weak  virtue, 
and  I  went  home  and  burlesqued  it — revelled  in  it, 
I  may  say.  I  never  saw  a  copy  of  the  real  Saturday 
Review  criticism  until  after  my  burlesque  was  written 
and  mailed  to  the  printer.  But  when  I  did  get  hold 
of  a  copy,  I  found  it  to  be  vulgar,  awkwardly  written, 
ill-natured,  and  entirely  serious  and  in  earnest.  The 
gentleman  who  wrote  the  newspaper  paragraph 
above  quoted  had  not  been  misled  as  to  its  char 
acter. 

If  any  man  doubts  my  word  now,  I  will  kill  him. 
No,  I  will  not  kill  him;  I  will  win  his  money.  I  will 
bet  him  twenty  to  one,  and  let  any  New  ^ork  pub 
lisher  hold  the  stakes,  that  the  statements  I  have 
above  made  as  to  the  authorship  of  the  article  in 
question  are  entirely  true.  Perhaps  I  may  get 
wealthy  at  this,  for  I  am  willing  to  take  all  the  bets 
that  offer;  and  if  a  man  wants  larger  odds,  I  will 
give  him  all  he  requires.  But  he  ought  to  find  out 
whether  I  am  betting  on  what  is  termed  "a  sure 
thing"  or  not  before  he  ventures  his  money,  and  he 
can  do  that  by  going  to  a  public  library  and  examin- 


226  The  $30,000  Bequest 

ing  the  London  Saturday  Review  of  October  8th,  which 
contains  the  real  critique. 

Bless  me,  some  people  thought  that  7  was  the  "  sold  " 
person ! 

P.  S. — I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  toss  in  this 
most  savory  thing  of  all — this  easy,  graceful,  philo 
sophical  disquisition,  with  its  happy,  chirping  confi 
dence.  It  is  from  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer: 

"Nothing  is  more  uncertain  than  the  value  of  a  fine 
cigar.  Nine  smokers  out  of  ten  would  prefer  an  ordinary 
domestic  article,  three  for  a  quarter,  to  a  fifty-cent 
Partaga,  if  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  cost  of  the  latter. 
The  flavor  of  the  Partaga  is  too  delicate  for  palates  that 
have  been  accustomed  to  Connecticut  seed  leaf.  So  it  is 
with  humor.  The  finer  it  is  in  quality,  the  more  danger 
of  its  not  being  recognized  at  all.  Even  Mark  Twain 
has  been  taken  in  by  an  English  review  of  his  Innocents 
Abroad.  Mark  Twain  is  by  no  means  a  coarse  humorist, 
but  the  Englishman's  humor  is  so  much  finer  than  his, 
that  he  mistakes  it  for  solid  earnest,  and  'larfs  most 
consumedly.'  " 

A  man  who  cannot  learn  stands  in  his  own  light. 
Hereafter,  when  I  write  an  article  which  I  know  to 
be  good,  but  which  I  may  have  reason  to  fear  will 
not,  in  some  quarters,  be  considered  to  amount  to 
much,  coming  from  an  American,  I  will  aver  that  an 
Englishman  wrote  it  and  that  it  is  copied  from  a 
London  journal.  And  then  I  will  occupy  a  back  seat 
and  enjoy  the  cordial  applause. 


An  Entertaining  Article  227 

(Still  later) 

"Mark  Twain  at  last  sees  that  the  Saturday  Review's 
criticism  of  his  Innocents  Abroad  was  not  serious,  and  he 
is  intensely  mortified  at  the  thought  of  having  been  so 
badly  sold.  He  takes  the  only  course  left  him,  and  in 
the  last  Galaxy  claims  that  he  wrote  the  criticism  himself, 
and  published  it  in  The  Galaxy  to  sell  the  public.  This 
is  ingenious,  but  unfortunately  it  is  not  true.  If  any  of 
our  readers  will  take  the  trouble  to  call  at  this  office 
we  will  show  them  the  original  article  in  the  Saturday 
Review  of  October  8th,  which,  on  comparison,  will  be 
found  to  be  identical  with  the  one  published  in  The 
Galaxy.  The  best  thing  for  Mark  to  do  will  be  to  admit 
that  he  was  sold,  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

The  above  is  from  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer,  and  is 
a  falsehood.  Come  to  the  proof.  If  the  Enquirer 
people,  through  any  agent,  will  produce  at  The  Galaxy 
office  a  London  Saturday  Review  of  October  8th,  con 
taining  an  "article  which,  on  comparison,  will  be 
found  to  be  identical  with  the  one  published  in  The 
Galaxy,  I  will  pay  to  that  agent  five  hundred  dollars 
cash.  Moreover,  if  at  any  specified  time  I  fail  to 
produce  at  the  same  place  a  copy  of  the  London 
Saturday  Review  of  October  8th,  containing  a  lengthy 
criticism  upon  the  Innocents  Abroad,  entirely  different, 
in  every  paragraph  and  sentence,  from  the  one  I  pub 
lished  in  The  Galaxy,  I  will  pay  to  the  Enquirer  agent 
another  five  hundred  dollars  cash.  I  offer  Sheldon 
&  Co.,  publishers,  500  Broadway,  New  York,  as  my 
"backers."  Any  one  in  New  York,  authorized  by 
the  Enquirer,  will  receive  prompt  attention.  It  is  an 


228  The  $30,000  Bequest 

easy  and  profitable  way  for  the  Enquirer  people  to 
prove  that  they  have  not  uttered  a  pitiful,  deliberate 
falsehood  in  the  above  paragraphs.  Will  they  swallow 
that  falsehood  ignominiously,  or  will  they  send  an 
agent  to  The  Galaxy  office?  I  think  the  Cincinnati 
Enquirer  must  be  edited  by  children. 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  SECRETARY  OF 
THE  TREASURY 


RlVERDALE-ON-THE-HuDSON, 

October  ij,  1902. 

The  Hon.  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  Washington, 
D.  C. : 

SIR,  —  Prices  for  the  customary  kinds  of  winter 
fuel  having  reached  an  altitude  which  puts  them 
out  of  the  reach  of  literary  persons  in  straitened  cir 
cumstances,  I  desire  to  place  with  you  the  following 
order : 

Forty-five  tons  best  old  dry  government  bonds, 
suitable  for  furnace,  gold  7  per  cents.,  1864,  pre 
ferred. 

Twelve  tons  early  greenbacks,  range  size,  suitable 
for  cooking. 

Eight  barrels  seasoned  25  and  50  cent  postal  cur 
rency,  vintage  of  1866,  eligible  for  kindlings. 

Please  deliver  with  all  convenient  dispatch  at  my 
house  in  Riverdale  at  lowest  rates  for  spot  cash,  and 
send  bill  to  Your  obliged  servant, 

MARK  TWAIN, 
who  will  be  very  grateful,  and  will  vote  right. 


AMENDED   OBITUARIES 

To  the  Editor: 

SIR, —  I  am  approaching  seventy;  it  is  in  sight; 
it  is  only  three  years  away.  Necessarily,  I  must 
go  soon.  It  is  but  matter-of-course  wisdom,  then, 
that  I  should  begin  to  set  my  worldly  house  in  order 
now,  so  that  it  may  be  done  calmly  and  with  thorough 
ness,  in  place  of  waiting  until  the  last  day,  when,  as 
we  have  often  seen,  the  attempt  to  set  both  houses 
in  order  at  the  same  time  has  been  marred  by  the 
necessity  for  haste  and  by  the  confusion  and  waste 
of  time  arising  from  the  inability  of  the  notary  and 
the  ecclesiastic  to  work  together  harmoniously,  taking 
turn  about  and  giving  each  other  friendly  assistance 
— not  perhaps  in  fielding,  which  could  hardly  be  ex 
pected,  but  at  least  in  the  minor  offices  of  keeping 
game  and  umpiring ;  by  consequence  of  which  conflict 
of  interests  and  absence  of  harmonious  action  a  draw 
has  frequently  resulted  where  this  ill-fortune  could 
not  have  happened  if  the  houses  had  been  set  in  order 
one  at  a  time  and  hurry  avoided  by  beginning  in 
season,  and  giving  to  each  the  amount  of  time  fairly 
and  justly  proper  to  it. 


Amended  Obituaries 


231 


In  setting  my  earthly  house  in  order  I  find  it  of 
moment  that  I  should  attend  in  person  to  one  or  two 
matters  which  men  in  my  position  have  long  had  the 
habit  of  leaving  wholly  to  others,  with  consequences 
often  most  regrettable.  I  wish  to  speak  of  only  one 
of  these  matters  at  this  time:  Obituaries.  Of  neces 
sity,  an  Obituary  is  a  thing  which  cannot  be  so  judi- 


l~yfa 

l/iuvl^u^~ 


HJL  f 


ciously  edited  by  any  hand  as  by  that  of  the  subject 
of  it.  In  such  a  work  it  is  not  the  Facts  that  are  of 
chief  importance,  but  the  light  which  the  obituarist 
shall  throw  upon  them,  the  meanings  which  he  shall 
dress  them  in,  the  conclusions  which  he  shall  draw 
from  them,  and  the  judgments  which  he  shall  deliver 


232  The  $30,000  Bequest 

upon  them.     The  Verdicts,  you  understand:    that  is 
the  danger-line. 

In  considering  this  matter,  in  view  of  my  approach 
ing  change,  it  has  seemed  to  me  wise  to  take  such 
measures  as  may  be  feasible,  to  acquire,  by  courtesy 
of  the  press,  access  to  my  standing  obituaries,  with 
the  privilege — if  this  is  not  asking  too  much — of  edit-  • 
ing,  not  their  Facts,  but  their  Verdicts.  This,  not 
for  present  profit,  further  than  as  concerns  my  family, 
but  as  a  favorable  influence  usable  on  the  Other  Side, 
where  there  are  some  who  are  not  friendly  to  me. 

With  this  explanation  of  my  motives,  I  will  now 
ask  you  of  your  courtesy  to  make  an  appeal  for  me 
to  the  public  press.  It  is  my  desire  that  such  journals 
and  periodicals  as  have  obituaries  of  me  lying  in  their 
pigeon-holes,  with  a  view  to  sudden  use  some  day, 
will  not  wait  longer,  but  will  publish  them  now,  and 
kindly  send  me  a  marked  copy.  My  address  is  simply 
New  York  city — I  have  no  other  that  is  permanent 
and  not  transient. 

I  will  correct  them — not  the  Facts,  but  the  Verdicts 
— striking  out  such  clauses  as  could  have  a  deleterious 
influence  on  the  Other  Side,  and  replacing  them  with 
clauses  of  a  more  judicious  character.  I  should,  of 
course,  expect  to  pay  double  rates  for  both  the  omis 
sions  and  the  substitutions ;  and  I  should  also  expect 
to  pay  quadruple  rates  for  all  obituaries  which  proved 
to  be  rightly  and  wisely  worded  in  the  originals,  thus 
requiring  no  emendations  at  all. 

It  is  my  desire  to  leave  these  Amended  Obituaries 


Amended  Obituaries  233 

neatly  bound  behind  me  as  a  perennial  consolation 
and  entertainment  to  my  family,  and  as  an  heirloom 
which  shall  have  a  mournful  but  definite  commercial 
value  for  my  remote  posterity. 

I  beg,  sir,  that  you  will  insert  this  Advertisement 
(it-eow,  agate,  inside),  and  send  the  bill  to 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

MARK  TWAIN. 

P.  S. — For  the  best  Obituary — one  suitable  for  me 
to  read  in  public,  and  calculated  to  inspire  regret — 
I  desire  to  offer  a  Prize,  consisting  of  a  Portrait  of  me 
done  entirely  by  myself  in  pen  and  ink  without  previ 
ous  instructions.  The  ink  warranted  to  be  the  kind 
used  by  the  very  best  artists. 

16 


A   MONUMENT   TO   ADAM 


SOME  one  has  revealed  to  the  Tribune  that  I  once 
suggested  to  Rev.  Thomas  K.  Beecher,  of  Elmira, 
New  York,  that  we  get  up  a  monument  to  Adam,  and 
that  Mr.  Beecher  favored  the  project.  There  is  more 
to  it  than  that.  The  matter  started  as  a  joke,  but  it 
came  somewhat  near  to  materializing. 

It  is  long  ago — thirty  years.  Mr.  Darwin's  Descent 
of  Man  had  been  in  print  five  or  six  years,  and  the 
storm  of  indignation  raised  by  it  was  still  raging  in 
pulpits  and  periodicals.  In  tracing  the  genesis  of  the 
human  race  back  to  its  sources,  Mr.  Darwin  had  left 
Adam  out  altogether.  We  had  monkeys,  and  "miss 
ing  links,"  and  plenty  of  other  kinds  of  ancestors, 
but  no  Adam.  Jesting  with  Mr.  Beecher  and  other 
friends  in  Elmira,  I  said  there  seemed  to  be  a  likeli 
hood  that  the  world  would  discard  Adam  and  accept 
the  monkey,  and  that  in  the  course  of  time  Adam's 
very  name  would  be  forgotten  in  the  earth ;  therefore 
this  calamity  ought  to  be  averted ;  a  monument  would 
accomplish  this,  and  Elmira  ought  not  to  waste  this 
honorable  opportunity  to  do  Adam  a  favor  and  her 
self  a  credit. 


A  Monument  to  Adam  235 

Then  the  unexpected  happened.  Two  bankers 
came  forward  and  took  hold  of  the  matter — not  for 
fun,  not  for  sentiment,  but  because  they  saw  in  the 
monument  certain  commercial  advantages  for  the 
town.  The  project  had  seemed  gently  humorous 
before — it  was  more  than  that  now,  with  this  stern 
business  gravity  injected  into  it.  The  bankers  dis 
cussed  the  monument  with  me.  We  met  several 
times.  They  proposed  an  indestructible  memorial, 
to  cost  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  The  insane 
oddity  of  a  monument  set  up  in  a  village  to  preserve 
a  name  that  would  outlast  the  hills  and  the  rocks 
without  any  such  help,  would  advertise  Elmira  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth — and  draw  custom.  It  would  be 
the  only  monument  on  the  planet  to  Adam,  and  in 
the  matter  of  interest  and  impressiveness  could  never 
have  a  rival  until  somebody  should  set  up  a  monu 
ment  to  the  Milky  Way. 

People  would  come  from  every  corner  of  the  globe 
and  stop  off  to  look  at  it,  no  tour  of  the  world  would 
be  complete  that  left  out  Adam's  monument.  Elmira 
would  be  a  Mecca;  there  would  be  pilgrim  ships  at 
pilgrim  rates,  pilgrim  specials  on  the  continent's  rail 
ways;  libraries  would  be  written  about  the  monu 
ment,  every  tourist  would  kodak  it,  models  of  it 
would  be  for  sale  everywhere  in  the  earth,  its  form 
would  become  as  familiar  as  the  figure  of  Napoleon. 

One  of  the  bankers  subscribed  five  thousand  dollars, 
and  I  think  the  other  one  subscribed  half  as  much, 
but  I  do  not  remember  with  certainty  now  whether 


236  The  $30,000  Bequest 

that  was  the  figure  or  not.  We  got  designs  made — 
some  of  them  came  from  Paris. 

In  the  beginning — as  a  detail  of  the  project  when 
it  was  as  yet  a  joke — I  had  framed  a  humble  and  be 
seeching  and  perfervid  petition  to  Congress  begging  the 
government  to  build  the  monument,  as  a  testimony 
of  the  Great  Republic's  gratitude  to  the  Father  of  the 
Human  Race  and  as  a  token  of  her  loyalty  to  him  in 
this  dark  day  of  his  humiliation  when  his  older  chil 
dren  were  doubting  him  and  deserting  him.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  this  petition  ought  to  be  presented,  now — 
it  would  be  widely  and  feelingly  abused  and  ridiculed 
and  cursed,  and  would  advertise  our  scheme  and 
make  our  ground-floor  stock  go  off  briskly.  So  I  sent 
it  to  General  Joseph  R.  Hawley,  who  was  then  in  the 
House,  and  he  said  he  would  present  it.  But  he  did 
not  do  it.  I  think  he  explained  that  when  he  came  to 
read  it  he  was  afraid  of  it :  it  was  too  serious,  too  gushy , 
too  sentimental — the  House  might  take  it  for  earnest. 

We  ought  to  have  carried  out  our  monument 
scheme ;  we  could  have  managed  it  without  any  great 
difficulty,  and  Elmira  would  now  be  the  most  cele 
brated  town  in  the  universe. 

Very  recently  I  began  to  build  a  book  in  which  one 
of  the  minor  characters  touches  incidentally  upon  a 
project  for  a  monument  to  Adam,  and  now  the 
Tribune  has  come  upon  a  trace  of  the  forgotten  jest 
of  thirty  years  ago.  Apparently  mental  telegraphy 
is  still  in  business.  It  is  odd;  but  the  freaks  of 
mental  telegraphy  are  usually  odd . 


A  HUMANE  WORD   FROM  SATAN 


[The  following  letter,  signed  by  Satan  and  purporting  to 
come  from  him,  we  have  reason  to  believe  was  not  written 
by  him,  but  by  Mark  Twain. — EDITOR.] 

To  the  Editor  of  Harper's  Weekly  : 

DEAR  SIR  AND  KINSMAN, — Let  us  have  done  with 
this  frivolous  talk.  The  American  Board  accepts  con 
tributions  from  me  every  year:  then  why  shouldn't 
it  from  Mr.  Rockefeller?  In  all  the  ages,  three- 
fourths  of  the  support  of  the  great  charities  has 
been  conscience-money,  as  my  books  will  show:  then 
what  becomes  of  the  sting  when  that  term  is  applied 
to  Mr.  Rockefeller's  gift?  The  American  Board's 
trade  is  financed  mainly  from  the  graveyards.  Be 
quests,  you  understand.  Conscience-money.  Confes 
sion  of  an  old  crime  and  deliberate  perpetration  of  a 
new  one;  for  deceased's  contribution  is  a  robbery  of 
his  heirs.  Shall  the  Board  decline  bequests  because 
they  stand  for  one  of  these  offences  every  time  and 
generally  for  both  ? 

Allow  me  to  continue.  The  charge  most  persistent 
ly  and  resentfully  and  remorselessly  dwelt  upon  is, 
that  Mr.  Rockefeller's  contribution  is  incurably  taint- 


2}X  The  $30,000  Bequest 

ed  by  perjury — perjury  proved  against  him  in  the 
courts.  It  makes  us  smile — down  in  my  place!  Be 
cause  there  isn't  a  rich  man  in  your  vast  city  who 
doesn't  perjure  himself  every  year  before  the  tax 
board.  They  are  all  caked  with  perjury,  many  layers 
thick.  Iron  clad,  so  to  speak.  If  there  is  one  that 
isn't,  I  desire  to  acquire  him  for  my  museum,  and 
will  pay  Dinosaur  rates.  Will  you  say  it  isn't  infrac 
tion  of  law,  but  only  annual  evasion  of  it  ?  Comfort 
yourselves  with  that  nice  distinction  if  you  like — for 
the  present.  But  by-and-by,  when  you  arrive,  I  will 
show  you  something  interesting:  a  whole  hell-full  of 
evaders!  Sometimes  a  frank  law-breaker  turns  up 
elsewhere,  but  I  get  those  others  every  time. 

To  return  to  my  muttons.  I  wish  you  to  remem 
ber  that  my  rich  perjurers  are  contributing  to  the 
American  Board  with  frequency:  it  is  money  filched 
from  the  sworn-off  personal  tax;  therefore  it  is  the 
wages  of  sin ;  therefore  it  is  my  money ;  therefore  it 
is  /  that  contribute  it;  and,  finally,  it  is  therefore  as 
I  have  said:  since  the  Board  daily  accepts  contribu 
tions  from  me,  why  should  it  decline  them  from  Mr. 
Rockefeller,  who  is  as  good  as  I  am,  let  the  courts 
say  what  they  may  ? 

.   SATAN. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  "THE  NEW  GUIDE 
OF    THE     CONVERSATION     IN 
PORTUGUESE  AND  ENGLISH" 


BY    PEDRO    CAROLING 

IN  this  world  of  uncertainties,  there  is,  at  any  rate, 
one  thing  which  may  be  pretty  confidently  set 
down  as  a  certainty:  and  that  is,  that  this  celebrated 
little  phrase-book  will  never  die  while  the  English 
language  lasts.  Its  delicious  unconscious  ridiculous 
ness,  and  its  enchanting  naivete,  are  as  supreme  and 
unapproachable,  in  their  way,  as  are  Shakespeare's 
sublimities.  Whatsoever  is  perfect  in  its  kind,  in 
literature,  is  imperishable:  nobody  can  add  to  the 
absurdity  of  this  book,  nobody  can  imitate  it  suc 
cessfully,  nobody  can  hope  to  produce  its  fellow;  it 
is  perfect,  it  must  and  will  stand  alone:  its  immor 
tality  is  secure. 

It  is  one  of  the  smallest  books  in  the  world,  but 
few  big  books  have  received  such  wide  attention, 
and  been  so  much  pondered  by  the  grave  and  the 
learned,  and  so  much  discussed  and  written  about 
by  the  thoughtful,  the  thoughtless,  the  wise,  and  the 
foolish.  Long  notices  of  it  have  appeared,  from  time 


240  The  $30,000  Bequest 

to  time,  in  the  great  English  reviews,  and  in  erudite 
and  authoritative  philological  periodicals ;  and  it  has 
been  laughed  at,  danced  upon,  and  tossed  in  a  blanket 
by  nearly  every  newspaper  and  magazine  in  the 
English-speaking  world.  Every  scribbler,  almost, 
has  had  his  little  fling  at  it,  at  one  time  or  another; 
I  had  mine  fifteen  years  ago.  The  book  gets  out  of 
print,  every  now  and  then,  and  one  ceases  to  hear  of 
it  for  a  season;  but  presently  the  nations  and  near 
and  far  colonies  of  our  tongue  and  lineage  call  for  it 
once  more,  and  once  more  it  issues  from  some  London 
or  Continental  or  American  press,  and  runs  a  new 
course  around  the  globe,  wafted  on  its  way  by  the 
wind  of  a  world's  laughter. 

Many  persons  have  believed  that  this  book's  mirac 
ulous  stupidities  were  studied  and  disingenuous ;  but 
no  one  can  read  the  volume  carefully  through  and 
keep  that  opinion.  It  was  written  in  serious  good 
faith  and  deep  earnestness,  by  an  honest  and  upright 
idiot  who  believed  he  knew  something  of  the  English 
language,  and  could  impart  his  knowledge  to  others. 
The  amplest  proof  of  this  crops  out  somewhere  or 
other  upon  each  and  every  page.  There  are  sentences 
in  the  book  which  could  have  been  manufactured  by 
a  man  in  his  right  mind,  and  with  an  intelligent  and 
deliberate  purpose  to  seem  innocently  ignorant;  but 
there  are  other  sentences,  and  paragraphs,  which  no 
mere  pretended  ignorance  could  ever  achieve — nor 
yet  even  the  most  genuine  and  comprehensive  igno 
rance,  when  unbacked  by  inspiration. 


"The  New  Guide  in  Portuguese  and  English"  241 

It  is  not  a  fraud  who  speaks  in  the  following  para 
graph  of  the  author's  Preface,  but  a  good  man,  an 
honest  man,  a  man  whose  conscience  is  at  rest,  a  man 
who  believes  he  has  done  a  high  and  worthy  work  for 
his  nation  and  his  generation,  and  is  well  pleased  with 
his  performance: 

"We  expect  then,  who  the  little  book  (for  the  care 
what  we  wrote  him,  and  for  her  typographical  correc 
tion)  that  may  be  worth  the  acceptation  of  the  studious 
persons,  and  especialy  of  the  Youth,  at  which  we  dedi 
cate  him  particularly." 

One  cannot  open  this  book  anywhere  and  not  find 
richness.  To  prove  that  this  is  true,  I  will  open  it  at 
random  and  copy  the  page  I  happen  to  stumble  upon. 
Here  is  the  result: 

"DIALOGUE  1 6 

"  FOR    TO    SEE    THE    TOWN 

"Anthony,  go  to  accompany  they  gentilsmen,  do  they 
see  the  town. 

"We  won't  to  see  all  that  is  it  remarquable  here. 

"Come  with  me,  if  you  please.  I  shall  not  folget 
nothing  what  can  to  merit  your  attention.  Here  we  are 
near  to  cathedral ;  will  you  come  in  there  ? 

"  We  will  first  to  see  him  in  oudside,  after  we  shall  go 
in  there  for  to  look  the  interior. 

"Admire  this  master  piece  gothic  architecture's. 

"The  chasing  of  all  they  figures  is  astonishing'indeed. 

"The  cupola  and  the  nave  are  not  less  curious  to  see. 


242  The  $30,000  Bequest 

' '  What  is  this  palace  how  I  see  youder  ? 

"It  is  the  town  hall. 

' '  And  this  tower  here  at  this  side  ? 

"It  is  the  Observatory. 

"The  bridge  is  very  fine,  it  have  ten  archs,  and  is 
constructed  of  free  stone. 

"The  streets  are  very  layed  out  by  line  and  too  paved. 

"  What  is  the  circuit  of  this  town  ? 

"Two  leagues. 

"There  is  it  also  hospitals  here? 

"It  not  fail  them. 

"What  are  then  the  edifices  the  worthest  to  have  seen  ? 

"It  is  the  arsnehal,  the  spectacle's  hall,  the  Cusiom- 
house,  and  the  Purse. 

"We  are  going  too  see  the  others  monuments  such 
that  the  public  pawnbroker's  office,  the  plants  garden's, 
the  money  office's,  the  library. 

"That  it  shall  be  for  another  day;  we  are  tired." 


"DIALOGUE   17 
"TO  INFORM  ONE'SELP  OF  A  PERSON 

"  How  is  that  gentilman  who  you  did  speak  by  and  by  ? 

"Is  a  German. 

"I  did  think  him  Englishman. 

"  He  is  of  the  Saxony  side. 

"  He  speak  the  french  very  well. 

"Tough  he  is  German,  he  speak  so  much  well  italyan, 
french,  Spanish  and  english,  that  among  the  Italyans, 
they  believe  him  Italyan,  he  speak  the  frenche  as  the 
Frenches  himselves.  The  Spanishesmen  believe  him 


"The  New  Guide  in  Portuguese  and  English"  243 

Spanishing,  and  the  Englishes,  Englisman.     It  is  difficult 
to  enjoy  well  so  much  several  langages." 


The  last  remark  contains  a  general  truth;  but  it 
ceases  to  be  a  truth  when  one  contracts  it  and  applies 
it  to  an  individual — provided  that  that  individual  is 
the  author  of  this  book,  Senhor  Pedro  Carolino.  •  I 
am  sure  I  should  not  find  it  difficult  "to  enjoy  well 
so  much  several  langages" — or  even  a  thousand  of 
them — if  he  did  the  translating  for  me  from  the 
originals  into  his  ostensible  English. 


ADVICE  TO   LITTLE  GIRLS 


GOOD  little  girls  ought  not  to  make  mouths  at 
their  teachers  for  every  trifling  offence.  This 
retaliation  should  only  be  resorted  to  under  peculiarly 
aggravated  circumstances. 

If  you  have  nothing  but  a  rag-doll  stuffed  with 
sawdust,  while  one  of  your  more  fortunate  little  play 
mates  has  a  costly  China  one,  you  should  treat  her 
with  a  sh6"w  of  kindness  nevertheless.  And  you 
ought  not  to  attempt  to  make  a  forcible  swap  with 
her  unless  your  conscience  would  justify  you  in  it, 
and  you  know  you  are  able  to  do  it. 

You  ought  never  to  take  your  little  brother's 
"chewing-gum"  away  from  him  by  main  force;  it  is 
better  to  rope  him  in  with  the  promise  of  the  first 
two  dollars  and  a  half  you  find  floating  down  the 
river  on  a  grindstone.  In  the  artless  simplicity 
natural  to  his  time  of  life,  he  will  regard  it  as  a  per 
fectly  fair  transaction.  In  all  ages  of  the  world  this 
eminently  plausible  fiction  has  lured  the  obtuse  infant 
to  financial  ruin  and  disaster. 

If  at  any  time  you  find  it  necessary  to  correct  your 
brother,  do  not  correct  him  with  mud — never,  on  any 


Advice  to  Little  Girls  245 

account,  throw  mud  at  him,  because  it  will  spoil  his 
clothes.  It  is  better  to  scold  him  a  little,  for  then 
you  obtain  desirable  results.  You  secure  his  imme 
diate  attention  to  the  lessons  you  are  inculcating, 
and  at  the  same  time  your  hot  water  will  have  a 
tendency  to  move  impurities  from  his  person,  and 
possibly  the  skin,  in  spots. 

If  your  mother  tells  you  to  do  a  thing,  it  is  wrong 
to  reply  that  you  won't.  It  is  better  and  more  be 
coming  to  intimate  that  you  will  do  as  she  bids  you, 
and  then  afterwards  act  quietly  in  the  matter  accord 
ing  to  the  dictates  of  your  best  judgment. 

You  should  ever  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  to  your 
kind  parents  that  you  are  indebted  for  your  food,  and 
your  nice  bed,  and  for  your  beautiful  clothes,  and  for 
the  privilege  of  staying  home  from  school  when  you 
let  on  that  you  are  sick.  Therefore  you  ought  to 
respect  their  little  prejudices,  and  humor  their  little 
whims,  and  put  up  with  their  little  foibles  until  they 
get  to  crowding  you  too  much. 

Good  little  girls  always  show  marked  deference  for 
the  aged.  You  ought  never  to  "sass"  old  people 
unless  they  "sass"  you  first. 


POST-MORTEM   POETRY1 

IN  Philadelphia  they  have  a  custom  which  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  see  adopted  throughout  the  land. 
It  is  that  of  appending  to  published  death-notices  a 
little  verse  or  two  of  comforting  poetry.  Any  one 
who  is  in  the  habit  of  reading  the  daily  Philadelphia 
Ledger,  must  frequently  be  touched  by  these  plaintive 
tributes  to  extinguished  worth.  In  Philadelphia,  the 
departure  of  a  child  is  a  circumstance  which  is  not 
more  surely  followed  by  a  burial  than  by  the  accus 
tomed  solacing  poesy  in  the  Public  Ledger.  In  that 
city  death  loses  half  its  terror  because  the  knowledge 
of  its  presence  comes  thus  disguised  in  the  sweet 
drapery  of  verse.  For  instance,  in  a  late  Ledger  I 
find  the  following  (I  change  the  surname) : 

"DIED 

"HAWKS. — On  the  i;th  inst.,  Clara,  the  daughter  of 
Ephraim  and  Laura  Hawks,  aged  21  months  and  2  days. 

' '  That  merry  shout  no  more  I  hear, 

No  laughing  child  I  see, 
No  little  arms  are  round  my  neck, 
No  feet  upon  my  knee ; 

1  Written  in  1870. 


Post-mortem  Poetry  247 

No  kisses  drop  upon  my  check, 

These  lips  are  sealed  to  me. 
Dear  Lord,  how  could  I  give  Clara  up 

To  any  but  to  Thee?" 

A  child  thus  mourned  could  not  die  wholly  discon 
tented.  From  the  Ledger  of  the  same  date  I  make  the 
following  extract,  merely  changing  the  surname,  as 
before : 

"BECKET. — On  Sunday  morning,  iQth  inst.,  John  P., 
infant  son  of  George  and  Julia  Becket,  aged  i  year,  6 
months,  and  15  days. 

' '  That  merry  shout  no  more  I  hear, 

No  laughing  child  I  see, 
No  little  arms  are  round  my  neck, 

No  feet  upon  my  knee ; 
No  kisses  drop  upon  my  cheek, 

These  lips  are  sealed  to  me. 
Dear  Lord,  how  could  I  give  Johnnie  up 

To  any  but  to  Thee?" 

The  similarity  of  the  emotions  as  produced  in  the 
mourners  in  these  two  instances  is  remarkably  evi 
denced  by  the  singular  similarity  of  thought  which 
they  experienced,  and  the  surprising  coincidence  of 
language  used  by  them  to  give  it  expression. 

In  the  same  journal,  of  the  same  date,  I  find  the 
following  (surname  suppressed,  as  before) : 

"WAGNER. — On  the  roth  inst.,  Ferguson  G.,  the  son 
of  William  L.  and  Martha  Theresa  Wagner,  aged  4 
weeks  and  i  day. 


348  The  $30,000  Bequest 

' '  That  merry  shout  no  more  I  hear, 

No  laughing  child  I  see, 
No  little  arms  are  round  my  neck, 

No  feet  upon  my  knee ; 
No  kisses  drop  upon  my  cheek, 

These  lips  are  sealed  to  me. 
Dear  Lord,  how  could  I  give  Ferguson  up 

To  any  but  to  Thee?" 

It  is  strange  what  power  the  reiteration  of  an 
essentially  poetical  thought  has  upon  one's  feel 
ings.  When  we  take  up  the  Ledger  and  read  the 
poetry  about  little  Clara,  we  feel  an  unaccountable 
depression  of  the  spirits.  When  we  drift  further 
down  the  column  and  read  the  poetry  about  little 
Johnnie,  the  depression  of  spirits  acquires  an  add 
ed  emphasis,  and  we  experience  tangible  suffering. 
When  we  saunter  along  down  the  column  further 
still  and  read  the  poetry  about  little  Ferguson,  the 
word  torture  but  vaguely  suggests  the  anguish  that 
rends  us. 

In  the  Ledger  (same  copy  referred  to  above)  I  find 
the  following  (I  alter  surname,  as  usual) : 

"WELCH. — On  the  5th  inst.,  Mary  C.  Welch,  wife  of 
William  B.  Welch,  and  daughter  of  Catharine  and  George 
W.  Markland,  in  the  2pth  year  of  her  age. 

"A  mother  dear,  a  mother  kind, 
Has  gone  and  left  us  all  behind. 
Cease  to  weep,  for  tears  are  vain, 
Mother  dear  is  out  of  pain. 


Post-mortem  Poetry  249 

"Farewell,  husband,  children  dear, 
Serve  thy  God  with  filial  fear, 
And  meet  me  in  the  land  above, 
Where  all  is  peace,  and  joy,  and  love." 

What  could  be  sweeter  than  that  ?  No  collection 
of  salient  facts  (without  reduction  to  tabular  form) 
could  be  more  succinctly  stated  than  is  done  in  the 
first  stanza  by  the  surviving  relatives,  and  no  more 
concise  and  comprehensive  programme  of  farewells, 
post-mortuary  general  orders,  etc.,  could  be  framed 
in  any  form  than  is  done  in  verse  by  deceased  in  the 
last  stanza.  These  things  insensibly  make  us  wiser 
and  tenderer,  and  better.  Another  extract: 

"BALL. — On  the  morning  of  the  i$th  inst,  Mary  E., 
daughter  of  John  and  Sarah  F.  Ball. 

"  'Tis  sweet  to  rest  in  lively  hope 

That  when  my  change  shall  come 
Angels  will  hover  round  my  bed, 
To  waft  my  spirit  home." 

The  following  is  apparently  the  customary  form  for 
heads  of  families : 

"BURNS.— On  the  2oth  inst.,  Michael  Burns,  aged  40 
years. 

' '  Dearest  father,  thou  hast  left  us, 

Here  thy  loss  we  deeply  feel ; 
But  'tis  God  that  has  bereft  us, 
He  can  all  our  sorrows  heal. 

"Funeral  at  2  o'clock  sharp." 

17 


250  The  $30,000  Bequest 

There  is  something  very  simple  and  pleasant  about 
the  following,  which,  in  Philadelphia,  seems  to  be  the 
usual  form  for  consumptives  of  long  standing.  (It 
deplores  four  distinct  cases  in  the  single  copy  of 
the  Ledger  which  lies  on  the  Memoranda  editorial 
table) : 

"  BROMLEY. — On  the  2Qth  inst.,  of  consumption,  Philip 
Bromley,  in  the  5oth  year  of  his  age. 

"Affliction  sore  long  time  he  bore, 

Physicians  were  in  vain — 
Till  God  at  last  did  hear  him  mourn, 
And  eased  him  of  his  pain. 

"The  friend  whom  death  from  us  has  torn, 

We  did  not  think  so  soon  to  part ; 
An  anxious  care  now  sinks  the  thorn 
Still  deeper  in  our  bleeding  heart." 

This  beautiful  creation  loses  nothing  by  repetition. 
On  the  contrary,  the  oftener  one  sees  it  in  the  Ledger, 
the  more  grand  and  awe-inspiring  it  seems. 

With  one  more  extract  I  will  close : 


"  DOBLE. — On  the  4th  inst.,  Samuel  Peveril  Worthing- 
ton  Doble,  aged  4  days. 

"Our  little  Sammy's  gone, 

His  tiny  spirit's  fled; 
Our  little  boy  we  loved  so  dear 
Lies  sleeping  with  the  dead. 


Post-mortem  Poetry  251 

"A  tear  within  a  father's  eye, 

A  mother's  aching  heart, 
Can  only  tell  the  agony 
How  hard  it  is  to  part." 

Could  anything  be  more  plaintive  than  that,  with 
out  requiring  further  concessions  of  grammar  ?  Could 
anything  be  likely  to  do  more  towards  reconciling 
deceased  to  circumstances,  and  making  him  willing 
to  go  ?  Perhaps  not.  The  power  of  song  can  hardly 
be  estimated.  There  is  an  element  about  some  poetry 
which  is  able  to  make  even  physical  suffering  and 
death  cheerful  things  to  contemplate  and  consumma 
tions  to  be  desired.  This  element  is  present  in  the 
mortuary  poetry  of  Philadelphia  degree  of  develop 
ment. 

The  custom  I  have  been  treating  of  is  one  that 
should  be  adopted  in  all  the  cities  of  the  land. 

It  is  said  that  once  a  man  of  small  consequence 
died,  and  the  Rev.  T.  K.  Beecher  was  asked  to  preach 
the  funeral  sermon — a  man  who  abhors  the  lauding 
of  people,  either  dead  or  alive,  except  in  dignified  and 
simple  language,  and  then  only  for  merits  which  they 
actually  possessed  or  possess,  not  merits  which  they 
merely  ought  to  have  possessed.  The  friends  of  the 
deceased  got  up  a  stately  funeral.  They  must  have 
had  misgivings  that  the  corpse  might  not  be  praised 
strongly  enough,  for  they  prepared  some  manuscript 
headings  and  notes  in  which  nothing  was  left  unsaid 
on  that  subject  that  a  fervid  imagination  and  an  un 
abridged  dictionary  could  compile,  and  these  they 


252  The  $30,000  Bequest 

handed  to  the  minister  as  he  entered  the  pulpit.  They 
were  merely  intended  as  suggestions,  and  so  the 
friends  were  filled  with  consternation  when  the  min 
ister  stood  up  in  the  pulpit  and  proceeded  to  read  off 
the  curious  odds  and  ends  in  ghastly  detail  and  in  a 
loud  voice !  And  their  consternation  solidified  to  petri- 
fication  when  he  paused  at  the  end,  contemplated  the 
multitude  reflectively,  and  then  said,  impressively : 

"The  man  would  be  a  fool  who  tried  to  add  any 
thing  to  that.  Let  us  pray!" 

And  with  the  same  strict  adhesion  to  truth  it  can 
be  said  that  the  man  would  be  a  fool  who  tried  to  add 
anything  to  the  following  transcendent  obituary  poem. 
There  is  something  so  innocent,  so  guileless,  so  com 
placent,  so  unearthly  serene  and  self-satisfied  about 
this  peerless  "hogwash,"  that  the  man  must  be  made 
of  stone  who  can  read  it  without  a  dulcet  ecstasy 
creeping  along  his  backbone  and  quivering  in  his 
marrow.  There  is  no  need  to  say  that  this  poem  is 
genuine  and  in  earnest,  for  its  proofs  are  written  all 
over  its  face.  An  ingenious  scribbler  might  imitate 
it  after  a  fashion,  but  Shakespeare  himself  could  not 
counterfeit  it.  It  is  noticeable  that  the  country 
editor  who  published  it  did  not  know  that  it  was  a 
treasure  and  the  most  perfect  thing  of  its  kind  that 
the  storehouses  and  museums  of  literature  could  show. 
He  did  not  dare  to  say  no  to  the  dread  poet — for  such 
a  poet  must  have  been  something  of  an  apparition — 
but  he  just  shovelled  it  into  his  paper  anywhere  that 
came  handy,  and  felt  ashamed,  and  put  that  disgusted 


Post-mortem  Poetry  253 

"Published  by  Request"  over  it,  and  hoped  that  his 
subscribers  would  overlook  it  or  not  feel  an  impulse 
to  read  it: 

"  (Published  by  request} 

"LINES 

'Composed    on    the    death    of   Samuel    and   Catharine 
Belknap's  children 

"  BY    M.   A.   GLAZE 

"Friends  and  neighbors  all  draw  near, 
And  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say ; 
And  never  leave  your  children  dear 
When  they  are  small,  and  go  away. 

"  But  always  think  of  that  sad  fate, 

That  happened  in  year  of  '63 ; 
Four  children  with  a  house  did  burn, 
Think  of  their  awful  agony. 

"Their  mother  she  had  gone  away, 

And  left  them  there  alone  to  stay ; 
The  house  took  fire  and  down  did  burn, 
Before  their  mother  did  return. 

"Their  piteous  cry  the  neighbors  heard, 
And  then  the  cry  of  fire  was  given ; 
But,  ah!  before  they  could  them  reach, 
Their  little  spirits  had  flown  to  heaven. 

"Their  father  he  to  war  had  gone, 

And  on  the  battle-field  was  slain ; 
But  little  did  he  think  when  he  went  away, 
But  what  on  earth  they  would  meet  again. 


254  The  $30,000  Bequest 

' '  The  neighbors  often  told  his  wife 
Not  to  leave  his  children  there, 
Unless  she  got  someone  to  stay, 
And  of  the  little  ones  take  care. 

"The  oldest  he  was  years  not  six, 

And  the  youngest  only  eleven  months  old, 
But  often  she  had  left  them  there  alone, 
As,  by  the  neighbors,  I  have  been  told. 

1  How  can  she  bear  to  see  the  place. 

Where  she  so  oft  has  left  them  there, 
Without  a  single  one  to  look  to  them, 
Or  of  the  little  ones  to  take  good  care. 

"Oh,  can  she  look  upon  the  spot, 

Whereunder  their  little  burnt  bones  lay, 
But  what  she  thinks  she  hears  them  say, 
'  'Twas  God  had  pity,  and  took  us  on  high. 

"And  there  may  she  kneel  down  and  pray, 

And  ask  God  her  to  forgive ; 
And  she  may  lead  a  different  life 
While  she  on  earth  remains  to  live. 

"Her  husband  and  her  children  too, 

God  has  took  from  pain  and  woe. 
May  she  reform  and  mend  her  ways, 
That  she  may  also  to  them  go. 

"And  when  it  is  God's  holy  will, 

O,  may  she  be  prepared 
To  meet  her  God  and  friends  in  peace, 
And  leave  this  world  of  care." 


A  DECEPTION 


YOU  may  remember  that  I  lectured  lately  for  the 
young  gentlemen  of  the  Clayonian  Society? 
During  the  afternoon  of  that  day  I  was  talking  with 
one  of  the  young  gentlemen  referred  to,  and  he  said 
he  had  an  uncle  who,  from  some  cause  or  other, 
seemed  to  have  grown  permanently  bereft  of  all  emo 
tion.  And  with  tears  in  his  eyes  this  young  man  said : 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  see  him  laugh  once  more!  Oh, 
if  I  could  only  see  him  weep!" 

I  was  touched.  I  could  never  withstand  distress. 
I  said: 

"  Bring  him  to  my  lecture.     I'll  start  him  for  you." 

"Oh,  if  you  could  but  do  it!  If  you  could  but  do 
it,  all  our  family  would  bless  you  for  evermore;  for 
he  is  very  dear  to  us.  Oh,  my  benefactor,  can  you 
make  him  laugh?  Can  you  bring  soothing  tears  to 
those  parched  orbs?" 

I  was  profoundly  moved.     I  said: 

"My  son,  bring  the  old  party  round.  I  have  got 
some  jokes  in  my  lecture  that  will  make  him  laugh, 
if  there  is  any  laugh  in  him;  and,  if  they  miss  fire,  I 
have  got  some  others  that'll  make  him  cry  or  kill  him, 
one  or  the  other." 


256  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Then  the  young  man  wept  on  my  neck,  and  pres 
ently  spread  both  hands  on  my  head  and  looked  up 
towards  heaven,  mumbling  something  reverently; 
and  then  he  went  after  his  uncle.  He  placed  him  in 
full  view,  in  the  second  row  of  benches,  that  night, 
and  I  began  on  him.  I  tried  him  with  mild  jokes — 
then  with  severe  ones;  I  dosed  him  with  bad  jokes, 
and  riddled  him  with  good  ones ;  I  fired  old,  stale  jokes 
on  him,  and  peppered  him  fore  and  aft  with  red-hot 
new  ones.  I  warmed  up  to  my  work,  and  assaulted 
him  on  the  right  and  left,  in  front  and  behind;  I 
fumed,  and  charged,  and  ranted,  till  I  was  hoarse  and 
sick,  and  frantic  and  furious ;  but  I  never  moved  him 
once  —  I  never  started  a  smile  or  a  tear!  Neve'r  a 
ghost  of  a  smile,  and  never  a  suspicion  of  moisture! 
I  was  astounded.  I  closed  the  lecture  at  last  with 
one  despairing  shriek — with  one  wild  burst  of  humor 
— and  hurled  a  joke  of  supernatural  atrocity  full  at 
him.  It  never  phased  him!  Then  I  sat  down  be 
wildered  and  exhausted. 

The  president  of  the  society  came  up  and  bathed 
my  head  with  cold  water,  and  said: 

"What  made  you  carry  on  so  towards  the  last?" 

I  said,  "I  was  trying  to  make  that  confounded  old 
idiot  laugh  in  the  second  row." 

And  he  said,  "Well,  you  were  wasting  your  time; 
because  he  is  deaf  and  dumb,  and  as  blind  as  a 
badger." 

Now  was  that  any  way  for  that  old  man's  nephew 
to  impose  on  a  stranger  and  an  orphan  like  me  ? 


THE  DANGER   OF  LYING  IN    BED 


THE  man  in  the  ticket-office  said: 
"Have  an  accident  insurance  ticket,  also?" 

"  No,"  I  said,  after  studying  the  matter  over  a  little. 
"No,  I  believe  not;  I  am  going  to  be  travelling  by 
rail  all  day  to-day.  However,  to-morrow  I  don't 
travel.  Give  me  one  for  to-morrow." 

The  man  looked  puzzled.     He  said: 

"But  it  is  for  accident  insurance,  and  if  you  are 
going  to  travel  by  rail — " 

"If  I  am  going  to  travel  by  rail  I  sha'n't  need  it. 
Lying  at  home  in  bed  is  the  thing  7  am  afraid  of." 

I  had  been  looking  into  this  matter.  Last  year  I 
travelled  twenty  thousand  miles,  almost  entirely  by 
rail;  the  year  before,  I  travelled  over  twenty-five 
thousand  miles,  half  by  sea  and  half  by  rail;  and  the 
year  before  that  I  travelled  in  the  neighborhood  of 
ten  thousand  miles,  exclusively  by  rail.  I  suppose  if 
I  put  in  all  the  little  odd  journeys  here  and  there,  I 
may  say  I  have  travelled  sixty  thousand  miles  during 
the  three  years  I  have  mentioned.  And  never  an 
accident. 

For  a  good  while  I  said  to  myself  every  morning: 


258  The  $30,000  Bequest 

"  Now  I  have  escaped  thus  far,  and  so  the  chances  are 
just  that  much  increased  that  I  shall  catch  it  this  time. 
I  will  be  shrewd,  and  buy  an  accident  ticket."  And 
to  a  dead  moral  certainty  I  drew  a  blank,  and  went 
to  bed  that  night  without  a  joint  started  or  a  bone 
splintered.  I  got  tired  of  that  sort  of  daily  bother, 
and  fell  to  buying  accident  tickets  that  were  good  for 
a  month.  I  said  to  myself,  "  A  man  can't  buy  thirty 
blanks  in  one  bundle." 

But  I  was  mistaken.  There  was  never  a  prize  in 
the  lot.  I  could  read  of  railway  accidents  every  day 
—the  newspaper  atmosphere  was  foggy  with  them; 
but  somehow  they  never  came  my  way.  I  found  I 
had  spent  a  good  deal  of  money  in  the  accident  busi 
ness,  and  had  nothing  to  show  for  it.  My  suspicions 
were  aroused,  and  I  began  to  hunt  around  for  some 
body  that  had  won  in  this  lottery.  I  found  plenty 
of  people  who  had  invested,  but  not  an  individual 
that  had  ever  had  an  accident  or  made  a  cent.  I 
stopped  buying  accident  tickets  and  went  to  cipher 
ing.  The  result  was  astounding.  THE  PERIL  LAY 

NOT  IN  TRAVELLING,   BUT  IN  STAYING  AT  HOME. 

I  hunted  up  statistics,  and  was  amazed  to  find  that 
after  all  the  glaring  newspaper  headings  concerning 
railroad  disasters,  less  than  three  hundred  people  had 
really  lost  their  lives  by  those  disasters  in  the  preced 
ing  twelve  months.  The  Erie  road  was  set  down  as 
the  most  murderous  in  the  list.  It  had  killed  forty- 
six — or  twenty -six,  I  do  not  exactly  remember  which, 
but  I  know  the  number  was  double  that  of  any  other 


The  Danger  of  Lying  in  Bed  259 

road.  But  the  fact  straightway  suggested  itself  that 
the  Erie  was  an  immensely  long  road,  and  did  more 
business  than  any  other  line  in  the  country;  so  the 
double  number  of  killed  ceased  to  be  matter  for 
surprise. 

By  further  figuring,  it  appeared  that  between  New 
York  and  Rochester  the  Erie  ran  eight  passenger 
trains  each  way  every  day — sixteen  altogether;  and 
carried  a  daily  average  of  6000  persons.  That  is 
about  a  million  in  six  months — the  population  of 
New  York  City.  Well,  the  Erie  kills  from  thirteen 
to  twenty-three  persons  out  of  its  million  in  six 
months;  and  in  the  same  time  13,000  of  New  York's 
million  die  in  their  beds!  My  flesh  crept,  my  hair 
stood  on  end.  "This  is  appalling!"  I  said.  "The 
danger  isn't  in  travelling  by  rail,  but  in  trusting  to 
those  deadly  beds.  I  will  never  sleep  in  a  bed  again." 

I  had  figured  on  considerably  less  than  one-half 
the  length  of  the  Erie  road.  It  was  plain  that  the 
entire  road  must  transport  at  least  eleven  or  twelve 
thousand  people  every  day.  There  are  many  short 
roads  running  out  of  Boston  that  do  fully  half  as 
much;  a  great  many  such  roads.  There  are  many 
roads  scattered  about  the  Union  that  do  a  prodigious 
passenger  business.  Therefore  it  was  fair  to  presume 
that  an  average  of  2500  passengers  a  day  for  each 
road  in  the  country  would  be  about  correct.  There 
are  846  railway  lines  in  our  country,  and  846  times 
2500  are  2,115,000.  So  the  railways  of  America  move 
more  than  two  millions  of  people  every  day ;  six  hun- 


260  The  $30,000  Bequest 

dred  and  fifty  millions  of  people  a  year,  without 
counting  the  Sundays.  They  do  that,  too — there  is 
no  question  about  it;  though  where  they  get  the  raw 
material  is  clear  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  my  arith 
metic;  for  I  have  hunted  the  census  through  and 
through,  and  I  find  that  there  are  not  that  many 
people  in  the  United  States,  by  a  matter  of  six  hun 
dred  and  ten  millions  at  the  very  least.  They  must 
use  some  of  the  same  people  over  again,  likely. 

San  Francisco  is  one-eighth  as  populous  as  New 
York ;  there  are  60  deaths  a  week  in  the  former  and 
500  a  week  in  the  latter — if  they  have  luck.  That  is 
3120  deaths  a  year  in  San  Francisco,  and  eight  times 
as  many  in  New  York — say  about  25,000  or  26,000. 
The  health  of  the  two  places  is  the  same.  So  we  will 
let  it  stand  as  a  fair  presumption  that  this  will  hold 
good  all  over  the  country,  and  that  consequently 
25,000  out  of  every  million  of  people  we  have  must 
die  every  year.  That  amounts  to  one-fortieth  of  our 
total  population.  One  million  of  us,  then,  die  an 
nually.  Out  of  this  million  ten  or  twelve  thousand 
are  stabbed,  shot,  drowned,  hanged,  poisoned,  or 
meet  a  similarly  violent  death  in  some  other  popular 
way,  such  as  perishing  by  kerosene  lamp  and  hoop- 
skirt  conflagrations,  getting  buried  in  coal-mines, 
falling  off  house  -  tops,  breaking  through  church  or 
lecture-room  floors,  taking  patent  medicines,  or  com 
mitting  suicide  in  other  forms.  The  Erie  railroad 
kills  from  23  to  46;  the  other  845  railroads  kill  an 
average  of  one-third  of  a  man  each;  and  the  rest  of 


The  Danger  of  Lying  in  Bed  261 

that  million,  amounting  in  the  aggregate  to  the 
appalling  figure  of  nine  hundred  and  eighty-seven 
thousand  six  hundred  and  thirty-one  corpses,  die 
naturally  in  their  beds! 

You  will  excuse  me  from  taking  any  more  chances 
on  those  beds.  The  railroads  are  good  enough  for  me. 

And  my  advice  to  all  people  is,  Don't  stay  at  home 
any  more  than  you  can  help ;  but  when  you  have  got 
to  stay  at  home  a  while,  buy  a  package  of  those 
insurance  tickets  and  sit  up  nights.  You  cannot  be 
too  cautious. 

[One  can  see  now  why  I  answered  that  ticket-agent 
in  the  manner  recorded  at  the  top  of  this  sketch.] 

The  moral  of  this  composition  is,  that  thoughtless 
people  grumble  more  than  is  fair  about  railroad  man 
agement  in  the  United  States.  When  we  consider  that 
every  day  and  night  of  the  year  full  fourteen  thou 
sand  railway  trains  of  various  kinds,  freighted  with 
life  and  armed  with  death,  go  thundering  over  the 
land,  the  marvel  is,  not  that  they  kill  three  hundred 
human  beings  in  a  twelvemonth,  but  that  they  do 
not  kill  three  hundred  times  three  hundred! 


PORTRAIT  OF  KING  WILLIAM  III 

I  NEVER  can  look  at  those  periodical  portraits  in 
The  Galaxy  magazine  without  feeling  a  wild,  tem 
pestuous  ambition  to  be  an  artist.  I  have  seen  thou 
sands  and  thousands  of  pictures  in  my  time — acres  of 
them  here  and  leagues  of  them  in  the  galleries  of  Eu 
rope — but  never  any  that  moved  me  as  these  por 
traits  do. 

There  is  the  portrait  of  Monsignore  Capel  in  the 
November  number,  now  could,  anything  be  sweeter 
than  that  ?  And  there  was  Bismarck's,  in  the  October 
number;  who  can  look  at  that  without  being  purer 
and  stronger  and  nobler  for  it  ?  And  Thurlow  Weed's 
picture  in  the  September  number;  I  would  not  have 
died  without  seeing  that,  no,  not  for  anything  this 
world  can  give.  But  look  back  still  further  and  recall 
my  own  likeness  as  printed  in  the  August  number ;  if 
I  had  been  in  my  grave  a  thousand  years  when  that 
appeared,  I  would  have  got  up  and  visited  the  artist. 

I  sleep  with  all  these  portraits  under  my  pillow 
every  night,  so  that  I  can  go  on  studying  them  as  soon 
as  the  day  dawns  in  the  morning.  I  know  them  all 
as  thoroughly  as  if  I  had  made  them  myself ;  I  know 


Portrait  of  King  William  III 

every  line  and  mark  about  them.  Sometimes  when 
company  are  present  I  shuffle  the  portraits  all  up  to 
gether,  and  then  pick  them  out  one  by  one  and  call 
their  names,  without  referring  to  the  printing  at  the 
bottom.  I  seldom  make  a  mistake — never,  when  I 
am  calm. 

I  have  had  the  portraits  framed  for  a  long  time, 
waiting  till  my  aunt  gets  everything  ready  for  hang 
ing  them  up  in  the  parlor.  But  first  one  thing  and 
then  another  interferes,  and  so  the  thing  is  delayed. 
Once  she  said  they  would  have  more  of  the  peculiar 
kind  of  light  they  needed  in  the  attic.  The  old  simple 
ton!  it  is  as  dark  as  a  tomb  up  there.  But  she  does 
not  know  anything  about  art,  and  so  she  has  no 
reverence  for  it.  When  I  showed  her  my  "Map  of 
the  Fortifications  of  Paris,"  she  said  it  was  rub 
bish. 

Well,  from  nursing  those  portraits  so  long,  I  have 
come  at  last  to  have  a  perfect  infatuation  for  art.  I 
have  a  teacher  now,  and  my  enthusiasm  continually 
and  tumultuously  grows,  as  I  learn  to  use  with  more 
and  more  facility  the  pencil,  brush,  and  graver.  I 
am  studying  under  De  Mellville,  the  house  and  portrait 
painter.  [His  name  was  Smith  when  he  lived  West.] 
He  does  any  kind  of  artist  work  a  body  wants,  having 
a  genius  that  is  universal,  like  Michael  Angelo.  Re 
sembles  that  great  artist,  in  fact.  The  back  of  his 
head  is  like  his,  and  he  wears  his  hat-brim  tilted  down 
on  his  nose  to  expose  it. 

I  have  been  studying  under  De  Mellville  several 


264  The  $30,000  Bequest 

months  now.  The  first  month  I  painted  fences,  and 
gave  general  satisfaction.  The  next  month  I  white 
washed  a  barn.  The  third,  I  was  doing  tin  roofs; 
the  fourth,  common  signs;  the  fifth,  statuary  to  stand 
before  cigar  shops.  This  present  month  is  only  the 
sixth,  and  I  am  already  in  portraits! 

The  humble  offering  which  accompanies  these  re 
marks —  the  portrait  of  his  Majesty  William  III., 
King  of  Prussia — is  my  fifth  attempt  in  portraits,  and 
my  greatest  success.  It  has  received  unbounded 
praise  from  all  classes  of  the  community,  but  that 
which  gratifies  me  most  is  the  frequent  and  cordial 
verdict  that  it  resembles  the  Galaxy  portraits.  Those 
were  my  first  love,  my  earliest  admiration,  the  original 
source  and  incentive  of  my  art-ambition.  Whatever 
I  am  in  Art  to-day,  I  owe  to  these  portraits.  I  ask 
no  credit  for  myself — I  deserve  none.  And  I  never 
take  any,  either.  Many  a  stranger  has  come  to  my 
exhibition  (for  I  have  had  my  portrait  of  King  William 
on  exhibition  at  one  dollar  a  ticket),  and  would  have 
gone  away  blessing  me,  if  I  had  let  him,  but  I  never 
did.  I  always  stated  where  I  got  the  idea. 

King  William  wears  large  bushy  side-whiskers,  and 
some  critics  have  thought  that  this  portrait  would  be 
more  complete  if  they  were  added.  But  it  was  not 
possible.  There  was  not  room  for  side-whiskers  and 
epaulettes  both,  and  so  I  let  the  whiskers  go,  and  put 
in  the  epaulettes,  for  the  sake  of  style.  That  thing 
on  his  hat  is  an  eagle.  The  Prussian  eagle — it  is  a 
national  emblem.  When  I  say  hat  I  mean  helmet; 


18 


266  The  $30;000  Bequest 

but  it  seems  impossible  to  make  a  picture  or  a  helmet 
that  a  body  can  have  confidence  in. 

I  wish  kind  friends  everywhere  would  aid  me  in 
my  endeavor  to  attract  a  little  attention  to  the  Galaxy 
portraits.  I  feel  persuaded  it  can  be  accomplished, 
if  the  course  to  be  pursued  be  chosen  with  judgment. 
I  write  for  that  magazine  all  the  time,  and  so  do  many 
abler  men,  and  if  I  can  get  these  portraits  into  univer 
sal  favor,  it  is  all  I  ask;  the  reading  matter  will  take 
care  of  itself. 

COMMENDATIONS  OF  THE  PORTRAIT 
There  is  nothing  like  it  in  the  Vatican.       Pius  IX. 

It  has  none  of  that  vagueness,  that  dreamy  spiritu 
ality  about  it,  which  many  of  the  first  critics  of  Arkansas 
have  objected  to  in  the  Murillo  school  of  Art. 

RUSKIN. 

The  expression  is  very  interesting.      J.  W.  TITIAN. 

(Keeps  a  macaroni  store  in  Venice,  at  the  old  family 
stand.) 

It  is  the  neatest  thing  in  still  life  I  have  seen  for 
years.  ROSA  BONHEUR. 

The  smile  may  be  almost  called  unique.    BISMARCK. 

I  never  saw  such  character  portrayed  in  a  pictured 
face  before.  DE  MELLVILLE. 

There  is  a  benignant  simplicity  about  the  execution 
of  this  work  which  warms  the  heart  towards  it  as  much, 
full  as  much,  as  it  fascinates  the  eye.  LANDSEER. 


Portrait  of  King  William  III  267 

One  cannot  see  it  without  longing  to  contemplate 
the  artist.  FREDERICK  WILLIAM. 

Send  me  the  entire  edition — together  with  the  plate 
and  the  original  portrait — and  name  your  own  price. 
And — would  you  like  to  come  over  and  stay  a  while  with 
Napoleon  at  Wilhelmshohe  ?  It  shall  not  cost  you  a 
cent.  WILLIAM  III. 


DOES  THE  RACE  OF  MAN  LOVE  A 
LORD? 

Often  a  quite  assified  remark  becomes  sanctified  by 
use  and  petrified  by  custom;  it  is  then  a  permanency, 
its  term  of  activity  a  geologic  period. 


THE  day  after  the  arrival  of  Prince  Henry  I  met 
an  English  friend,  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  and 
broke  out  with  a  remark  that  was  charged  to  the  brim 
with  joy — joy  that  was  evidently  a  pleasant  salve  to 
an  old  sore  place: 

"Many  a  time  I've  had  to  listen  without  retort  to 
an  old  saying  that  is  irritatingly  true,  and  until  now 
seemed  to  offer  no  chance  for  a  return  jibe:  'An 
Englishman  does  dearly  love  a  lord';  but  after  this 
I  shall  talk  back,  and  say  '  How  about  the  Ameri 
cans?'" 

It  is  a  curious  thing,  the  currency  that  an  idiotic 
saying  can  get.  The  man  that  first  says  it  thinks  he 
has  made  a  discovery.  The  man  he  says  it  to,  thinks 
the  same.  It  departs  on  its  travels,  is  received  every 
where  with  admiring  acceptance,  and  not  only  as  a 
piece  of  rare  and  acute  observation,  but  as  being 
exhaustively  true  and  profoundly  wise;  and  so  it 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord  ?        269 

presently  takes  its  place  in  the  world's  list  of  recog 
nized  and  established  wisdoms,  and  after  that  no 
one  thinks  of  examining  it  to  see  whether  it  is  really 
entitled  to  its  high  honors  or  not.  I  call  to  mind 
instances  of  this  in  two  well  -  established  proverbs, 
whose  dulness  is  not  surpassed  by  the  one  about  the 
Englishman  and  his  love  for  a  lord:  one  of  them 
records  the  American's  Adoration  of  the  Almighty 
Dollar,  the  other  the  American  millionaire-girl's  am 
bition  to  trade  cash  for  a  title,  with  a  husband 
thrown  in. 

It  isn't  merely  the  American  that  adores  the  Al 
mighty  Dollar,  it  is  the  human  race.  The  human 
race  has  always  adored  the  hatful  of  shells,  or  the 
bale  of  calico,  or  the  half -bushel  of  brass  rings,  or 
the  handful  of  steel  fish-hooks,  or  the  houseful  of 
black  wives,  or  the  zareba  full  of  cattle,  or  the  two 
score  camels  and  asses,  or  the  factory,  or  the  farm, 
or  the  block  of  buildings,  or  the  railroad  bonds,  or 
the  bank  stock,  or  the  hoarded  cash,  or — anything 
that  stands  for  wealth  and  consideration  and  inde 
pendence,  and  can  secure  to  the  possessor  that  most 
precious  of  all  things,  another  man's  envy.  It  was 
a  dull  person  that  invented  the  idea  that  the  Ameri 
can's  devotion  to  the  dollar  is  more  strenuous  than 
another's. 

Rich  American  girls  do  buy  titles,  but  they  did  not 
invent  that  idea ;  it  had  been  worn  threadbare  several 
hundred  centuries  before  America  was  discovered. 
European  girls  still  exploit  it  as  briskly  as  ever;  and, 


270  The  $30,000  Bequest 

when  a  title  is  not  to  be  had  for  the  money  in  hand, 
they  buy  the  husband  without  it.  They  must  put  up 
the  "dot,"  or  there  is  no  trade.  The  commercializa 
tion  of  brides  is  substantially  universal,  except  in 
America.  It  exists  with  us,  to  some  little  extent,  but 
in  no  degree  approaching  a  custom. 

"The  Englishman  dearly  loves  a  lord." 
What  is  the  soul  and  source  of  his  love?     I  think 
the  thing  could  be  more  correctly  worded : 
"The  human  race  dearly  envies  a  lord." 
That  is  to  say,  it  envies  the  lord's  place.     Why? 
On  two  accounts,  I  think:    its  Power  and  its  Con- 
spicuousness. 

Where  Conspicuousness  carries  with  it  a  Power 
which,  by  the  light  of  our  own  observation  and  ex 
perience,  we  are  able  to  measure  and  comprehend,  I 
think  our  envy  of  the  possessor  is  as  deep  and  as 
passionate  as  is  that  of  any  other  nation.  No  one 
can  care  less  for  a  lord  than  the  backwoodsman,  who 
has  had  no  personal  contact  with  lords  and  has  sel 
dom  heard  them  spoken  of;  but  I  will  not  allow  that 
any  Englishman  has  a  profounder  envy  of  a  lord 
than  has  the  average  American  who  has  lived  long 
years  in  a  European  capital  and  fully  learned  how 
immense  is  the  position  the  lord  occupies. 

Of  any  ten  thousand  Americans  who  eagerly  gather, 
at  vast  inconvenience,  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Prince 
Henry,  all  but  a  couple  of  hundred  will  be  there  out 
of  an  immense  curiosity;  they  are  burning  up  with 
desire  to  see  a  personage  who  is  so  much  talked  about. 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord?        271 

They  envy  him ;  but  it  is  Conspicuousness  they  envy 
mainly,  not  the  Power  that  is  lodged  in  his  royal 
quality  and  position,  for  they  have  but  a  vague  and 
spectral  knowledge  and  appreciation  of  that ;  through 
their  environment  and  associations  they  have  been 
accustomed  to  regard  such  things  lightly,  and  as  not 
being  very  real;  consequently,  they  are  not  able  to 
value  them  enough  to  consumingly  envy  them. 

But,  whenever  an  American  (or  other  human  being) 
is  in  the  presence,  for  the  first  time,  of  a  combina 
tion  of  great  Power  and  Conspicuousness  which  he 
thoroughly  understands  and  appreciates,  his  eager 
curiosity  and  pleasure  will  be  well-sodden  with  that 
other  passion — envy — whether  he  suspect  it  or  not. 
At  any  time,  on  any  day,  in  any  part  of  America, 
you  can  confer  a  happiness  upon  any  passing  stranger 
by  calling  his  attention  to  any  other  passing  stranger 
and  saying: 

"Do  you  see  that  gentleman  going  along  there? 
It  is  Mr.  Rockefeller." 

Watch  his  eye.  It  is  a  combination  of  power  and 
Conspicuousness  which  the  man  understands. 

When  we  understand  rank,  we  always  like  to  rub 
against  it.  When  a  man  is  conspicuous,  we  always 
want  to  see  him.  Also,  if  he  will  pay  us  an  attention 
we  will  manage  to  remember  it.  Also,  we  will  men 
tion  it  now  and  then,  casually ;  sometimes  to  a  friend, 
or  if  a  friend  is  not  handy,  we  will  make  out  with  a 
stranger. 

Well,  then,  what  is  rank,  and  what  is  conspicuous- 


272  The  $30,000  Bequest 

ness?  At  once  we  think  of  kings  and  aristocracies, 
and  of  world -wide  celebrities  in  soldiership,  the  arts, 
letters,  etc.,  and  we  stop  there.  But  that  is  a  mis 
take.  Rank  holds  its  court  and  receives  its  homage 
on  every  round  of  the  ladder,  from  the  emperor  down 
to  the  rat-catcher;  and  distinction,  also,  exists  on 
every  round  of  the  ladder,  and  commands  its  due  of 
deference  and  envy. 

To  worship  rank  and  distinction  is  the  dear  and 
valued  privilege  of  all  the  human  race,  and  it  is  freely 
and  joyfully  exercised  in  democracies  as  well  as  in 
monarchies — and  even,  to  some  extent,  among  those 
creatures  whom  we  impertinently  call  the  Lower 
Animals.  For  even  they  have  some  poor  little  van 
ities  and  foibles,  though  in  this  matter  they  are  pau 
pers  as  compared  to  us. 

A  Chinese  Emperor  has  the  worship  of  his  four 
hundred  millions  of  subjects,  but  the  rest  of  the  world 
is  indifferent  to  him.  A  Christian  Emperor  has  the 
worship  of  his  subjects  and  of  a  large  part  of  the 
Christian  world  outside  of  his  dominions;  but  he  is 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  all  China.  A  king,  class 
A,  has  an  extensive  worship;  a  king,  class  B,  has  a 
less  extensive  worship;  class  C,  class  D,  class  E  get  a 
steadily  diminishing  share  of  worship ;  class  L  (Sultan 
of  Zanzibar),  class  P  (Sultan  of  Sulu),  and  class  W 
(half -king  of  Samoa),  get  no  worship  at  all  outside 
their  own  little  patch  of  sovereignty. 

Take  the  distinguished  people  along  down.  Each 
has  his  group  of  homage-payers.  In  the  navy,  there 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord  ?      273 

are  many  groups;  they  start  with  the  Secretary  and 
the  Admiral,  and  go  down  to  the  quartermaster — 
and  below ;  for  there  will  be  groups  among  the  sailors, 
and  each  of  these  groups  will  have  a  tar  who  is  dis 
tinguished  for  his  battles,  or  his  strength,  or  his 
daring,  or  his  profanity,  and  is  admired  and  envied 
by  his  group.  The  same  with  the  army;  the  same 
with  the  literary  and  journalistic  craft,  the  publish 
ing  craft;  the  cod-fishery  craft;  Standard  Oil;  U.  S. 
Steel ;  the  class  A  hotel — and  the  rest  of  the  alphabet 
in  that  line ;  the  class  A  prize-fighter — and  the  rest  of 
the  alphabet  in  his  line — clear  down  to  the  lowest 
and  obscurest  six-boy  gang  of  little  gamins,  with  its 
one  boy  that  can  thrash  the  rest,  and  to  whom  he  is 
king  of  Samoa,  bottom  of  the  royal  race,  but  looked 
up  to  with  a  most  ardent  admiration  and  envy. 

There  is  something  pathetic,  and  funny,  and  pretty, 
about  this  human  race's  fondness  for  contact  with 
power  and  distinction,  and  for  the  reflected  glory  it 
gets  out  of  it.  The  king,  class  A,  is  happy  in  the 
state  banquet  and  the  military  show  which  the 
emperor  provides  for  him,  and  he  goes  home  and 
gathers  the  queen  and  the  princelings  around  him  in 
the  privacy  of  the  spare  room,  and  tells  them  all 
about  it,  and  says: 

"His  Imperial  Majesty  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder 
in  the  most  friendly  way — just  as  friendly  and  famil 
iar,  oh,  you  can't  imagine  it! — and  everybody  seeing 
him  do  it;  charming,  perfectly  charming!" 

The  king,  class  G,  is  happy  in  the  cold  collation 


274  The  $30,000  Bequest 

and  the  police-parade  provided  for  him  by  the  king, 
class  B,  and  goes  home  and  tells  the  family  all  about 
it,  and  says: 

"And  His  Majesty  took  me  into  his  own  private 
cabinet  for  a  smoke  and  a  chat,  and  there  we  sat 
just  as  sociable,  and  talking  away  and  laughing  and 
chatting,  just  the  same  as  if  we  had  been  born  in  the 
same  bunk;  and  all  the  servants  in  the  anteroom 
could  see  us  doing  it!  Oh,  it  was  too  lovely  for 
anything!" 

The  king,  class  Q,  is  happy  in  the  modest  entertain 
ment  furnished  him  by  the  king,  class  M,  and  goes 
home  and  tells  the  household  about  it,  and  is  as 
grateful  and  joyful  over  it  as  were  his  predecessors 
in  the  gaudier  attentions  that  had  fallen  to  their 
larger  lot. 

Emperors,  kings,  artisans,  peasants,  big  people, 
little  people — at  bottom  we  are  all  alike  and  all  the 
same;  all  just  alike  on  the  inside,  and  when  our 
clothes  are  off,  nobody  can  tell  which  of  us  is  which. 
We  are  unanimous  in  the  pride  we  take  in  good  and 
genuine  compliments  paid  us,  in  distinctions  conferred 
upon  us,  in  attentions  shown  us.  There  is  not  one 
of  us,  from  the  emperor  down,  but  is  made  like  that. 
Do  I  mean  attentions  shown  us  by  the  great?  No, 
I  mean  simply  flattering  attentions,  let  them  come 
whence  they  may.  We  despise  no  source  that  can 
pay  us  a  pleasing  attention — there  is  no  source  that 
is  humble  enough  for  that.  You  have  heard  a  dear 
little  girl  say  of  a  frowzy  and  disreputable  dog:  "He 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord  ?       275 

came  right  to  me  and  let  me  pat  him  on  the  head,  and 
he  wouldn't  let  the  others  touch  him!"  and  you  have 
seen  her  eyes  dance  with  pride  in  that  high  distinc 
tion.  You  have  often  seen  that.  If  the  child  were 
a  princess,  would  that  random  dog  be  able  to  confer 
the  like  glory  upon  her  with  his  pretty  compliment  ? 
Yes;  and  even  in  her  mature  life  and  seated  upon  a 
throne,  she  would  still  remember  it,  still  recall  it,  still 
speak  of  it  with  frank  satisfaction.  That  charming 
and  lovable  German  princess  and  poet,  Carmen  Sylva, 
Queen  of  Roumania,  remembers  yet  that  the  flowers 
of  the  woods  and  fields  "talked  to  her"  when  she  was 
a  girl,  and  she  sets  it  down  in  her  latest  book;  and 
that  the  squirrels  conferred  upon  her  and  her  father 
the  valued  compliment  of  not  being  afraid  of  them; 
and  "once  one  of  them,  holding  a  nut  between  its 
sharp  little  teeth,  ran  right  up  against  my  father" — 
it  has  the  very  note  of  "He  came  right  to  me  and  let 
me  pat  him  on  the  head" — "and  when  it  saw  itself 
reflected  in  his  boot  it  was  very  much  surprised,  and 
stopped  for  a  long  time  to  contemplate  itself  in  the 
polished  leather" — then  it  went  its  way.  And  the 
birds!  she  still  remembers  with  pride  that  "they 
came  boldly  into  my  room,"  when  she  had  neglected 
her  "duty"  and  put  no  food  on  the  window-sill  for 
them;  she  knew  all  the  wild  birds,  and  forgets  the 
royal  crown  on  her  head  to  remember  with  pride  that 
they  knew  her ;  also  that  the  wasp  and  the  bee  were 
personal  friends  of  hers,  and  never  forgot  that  gracious 
relationship  to  her  injury:  "never  have  I  been  stung 


276  The  $30,000  Bequest 

by  a  wasp  or  a  bee."  And  here  is  that  proud  note 
again  that  sings  in  that  little  child's  elation  in  being 
singled  out,  among  all  the  company  of  children,  for 
the  random  dog's  honor-conferring  attentions.  "  Even 
in  the  very  worst  summer  for  wasps,  when,  in  lunching 
out-of-doors,  our  table  was  covered  with  them  and 
every  one  else  was  stung,  they  never  hurt  me." 

When  a  queen  whose  qualities  of  mind  and  heart 
and  character  are  able  to  add  distinction  to  so  dis 
tinguished  a  place  as  a  throne,  remembers  with  grate 
ful  exultation,  after  thirty  years,  honors  and  distinc 
tions  conferred  upon  her  by  the  humble,  wild  creatures 
of  the  forest,  we  are  helped  to  realize  that  complimen 
tary  attentions,  homage,  distinctions,  are  of  no  caste, 
but  are  above  all  caste  —  that  they  are  a  nobility- 
conferring  power  apart. 

We  all  like  these  things.  When  the  gate-guard  at  the 
railway  station  passes  me  through  unchallenged  and 
examines  other  people's  tickets,  I  feel  as  the  king,  class 
A,  felt  when  the  emperor  put  the  imperial  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  "everybody  seeing  him  do  it";  and  as 
the  child  felt  when  the  random  dog  allowed  her  to 
pat  his  head  and  ostracized  the  others;  and  as  the 
princess  felt  when  the  wasps  spared  her  and  stung 
the  rest ;  and  I  felt  just  so,  four  years  ago  in  Vienna 
(and  remember  it  yet) ,  when  the  helmeted  police  shut 
me  off,  with  fifty  others,  from  a  street  which  the 
Emperor  was  to  pass  through,  and  the  captain  of  the 
squad  turned  and  saw  the  situation  and  said  indig 
nantly  to  that  guard : 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord  ?        277 

"Can't  you  see  it  is  the  Herr  Mark  Twain?  Let 
him  through!" 

It  was  four  years  ago ;  but  it  will  be  four  hundred 
before  I  forget  the  wind  of  self-complacency  that  rose 
in  me,  and  strained  my  buttons  when  I  marked  the 
deference  for  me  evoked  in  the  faces  of  my  fellow- 
rabble,  and  noted,  mingled  with  it,  a  puzzled  and 
resentful  expression  which  said,  as  plainly  as  speech 
could  have  worded  it:  "  And  who  in  the  nation  is  the 
Herr  Mark  Twain  um  Gotteswillen  ?" 

How  many  times  in  your  life  have  you  heard  this 
boastful  remark: 

"I  stood  as  close  to  him  as  I  am  to  you;  I  could 
have  put  out  my  hand  and  touched  him." 

We  have  all  heard  it  many  and  many  a  time.  It 
was  a  proud  distinction  to  be  able  to  say  those  words. 
It  brought  envy  to  the  speaker,  a  kind  of  glory ;  and 
he  basked  in  it  and  was  happy  through  all  his  veins. 
And  who  was  it  he  stood  so  close  to?  The  answer 
would  cover  all  the  grades.  Sometimes  it  was  a  kirig ; 
sometimes  it  was  a  renowned  highwayman;  some 
times  it  was  an  unknown  man  killed  in  an  extraor 
dinary  way  and  made  suddenly  famous  by  it;  always 
it  was  a  person  who  was  for  the  moment  the  subject 
of  public  interest — the  public  interest  of  a  nation, 
maybe  only  the  public  interest  of  a  village. 

"I  was  there,  and  I  saw  it  myself."  That  is  a 
common  and  envy-compelling  remark.  It  can  refer 
to  a  battle;  to  a  hanging;  to  a  coronation,  to  the 
killing  of  Jumbo  by  the  railway  train ;  to  the  arrival 


278  The  $30,000  Bequest 

of  Jenny  Lind  at  the  Battery;  to  the  meeting  of  the 
President  and  Prince  Henry;  to  the  chase  of  a  mur 
derous  maniac ;  to  the  disaster  in  the  tunnel ;  to  the 
explosion  in  the  subway;  to  a  remarkable  dog -fight; 
to  a  village  church  struck  by  lightning.  It  will  be 
said,  more  or  less  casually,  by  everybody  in  America 
who  has  seen  Prince  Henry  do  anything,  or  try  to. 
The  man  who  was  absent  and  didn't  see  him  do  any 
thing,  will  scoff.  It  is  his  privilege ;  and  he  can  make 
capital  out  of  it,  too;  he  will  seem,  even  to  himself, 
to  be  different  from  other  Americans,  and  better. 
As  his  opinion  of  his  superior  Americanism  grows,  and 
swells,  and  concentrates  and  coagulates,  he  will  go 
further  and  try  to  belittle  the  distinction  of  those 
that  saw  the  Prince  do  things,  and  will  spoil  their 
pleasure  in  it  if  he  can.  My  life  has  been  embittered 
by  that  kind  of  persons.  If  you  are  able  to  tell  of  a 
special  distinction  that  has  fallen  to  your  lot,  it 
gravels  them;  they  cannot  bear  it;  and  they  try  to 
make  believe  that  the  thing  you  took  for  a  special 
distinction  was  nothing  of  the  kind  and  was  meant 
in  quite  another  way.  Once  I  was  received  in  private 
audience  by  an  emperor.  Last  week  I  was  telling  a 
jealous  person  about  it,  and  I  could  see  him  wince 
under  it,  see  it  bite,  see  him  surfer.  I  revealed  the 
whole  episode  to  him  with  considerable  elaboration 
and  nice  attention  to  detail.  When  I  was  through, 
he  asked  me  what  had  impressed  me  most.  I  said: 
"His  Majesty's  delicacy.  They  told  me  to  be  sure 
and  back  out  from  the  presence,  and  find  the  door- 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord  ?        279 

knob  as  best  I  could;  it  was  not  allowable  to  face 
around.  Now  the  Emperor  knew  it  would  be  a  diffi 
cult  ordeal  for  me,  because  of  lack  of  practice;  and 
so,  when  it  was  time  to  part,  he  turned,  with  exceed 
ing  delicacy,  and  pretended  to  fumble  with  things  on 
his  desk,  so  that  I  could  get  out  in  my  own  way, 
without  his  seeing  me." 

It  went  home!  It  was  vitriol!  I  saw  the  envy 
and  disgruntlement  rise  in  the  man's  face ;  he  couldn't 
keep  it  down.  I  saw  him  trying  to  fix  up  something 
in  his  mind  to  take  the  bloom  off  that  distinction.  I 
enjoyed  that,  for  I  judged  that  he  had  his  work  cut 
out  for  him.  He  struggled  along  inwardly  for  quite 
a  while;  then  he  said,  with  the  manner  of  a  person 
who  has  to  say  something  and  hasn't  anything  rele 
vant  to  say: 

"You  said  he  had  a  handful  of  special-brand  cigars 
lying  on  the  table?" 

"Yes;  I  never  saw  anything  to  match  them." 

I  had  him  again.  He  had  to  fumble  around  in  his 
mind  as  much  as  another  minute  before  he  could  play ; 
then  he  said  in  as  mean  a  way  as  I  ever  heard  a  person 
say  anything: 

"He  could  have  been  counting  the  cigars,  you 
know." 

I  cannot  endure  a  man  like  that.  It  is  nothing  to 
him  how  unkind  he  is,  so  long  as  he  takes  the  bloom 
off.  It  is  all  he  cares  for. 

"An  Englishman  (or  other  human  being)  does 
dearly  love  a  lord,"  (or  other  conspicuous  person). 


280  The  $30,000  Bequest 

It  includes  us  all.  We  love  to  be  noticed  by  the 
conspicuous  person;  we  love  to  be  associated  with 
such,  or  with  a  conspicuous  event,  even  in  a  seventh- 
rate  fashion,  even  in  a  forty -seventh,  if  we  cannot  do 
better.  This  accounts  for  some  of  our  curious  tastes 
in  mementos.  It  accounts  for  the  large  private  trade 
in  the  Prince  of  Wales's  hair,  which  chambermaids 
were  able  to  drive  in  that  article  of  commerce  when 
the  Prince  made  the  tour  of  the  world  in  the  long  ago 
— hair  which  probably  did  not  always  come  from  his 
brush,  since  enough  of  it  was  marketed  to  refurnish 
a  bald  comet;  it  accounts  for  the  fact  that  the  rope 
which  lynches  a  negro  in  the  presence  of  ten  thousand 
Christian  spectators  is  saleable  five  minutes  later  at 
two  dollars  an  inch ;  it  accounts  for  the  mournful  fact 
that  a  royal  personage  does  not  venture  to  wear  but 
tons  on  his  coat  in  public. 

We  do  love  a  lord — and  by  that  term  I  mean  any 
person  whose  situation  is  higher  than  our  own.  The 
lord  of  a  group,  for  instance:  a  group  of  peers,  a 
group  of  millionaires,  a  group  of  hoodlums,  a  group 
of  sailors,  a  group  of  newsboys,  a  group  of  saloon 
politicians,  a  group  of  college  girls.  No  royal  person 
has  ever  been  the  object  of  a  more  delirious  loyalty 
and  slavish  adoration  than  is  paid  by  the  vast  Tam 
many  herd  to  its  squalid  idol  of  Wantage.  There  is 
not  a  bifurcated  animal  in  that  menagerie  that  would 
not  be  proud  to  appear  in  a  newspaper-picture  in  his 
company.  At  the  same  time,  there  are  some  in  that 
organization  who  would  scoff  at  the  people  who  have 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord?        281 

been  daily  pictured  in  company  with  Prince  Henry, 
and  would  say  vigorously  that  they  would  not  consent 
to  be  photographed  with  him  —  a  statement  which 
would  not  be  true  in  any  instance.  There  are  hun 
dreds  of  people  in  America  who  would  frankly  say  to 
you  that  they  would  not  be  proud  to  be  photographed 
in  a  group  with  the  Prince,  if  invited;  and  some  of 
these  unthinking  people  would  believe  it  when  they 
said  it ;  yet  in  no  instance  would  it  be  true.  We  have 
a  large  population,  but  we  have  not  a  large  enough 
one,  by  several  millions,  to  furnish  that  man.  He 
has  not  yet  been  begotten,  and  in  fact  he  is  not 
begettable. 

You  may  take  any  of  the  printed  groups,  and  there 
isn't  a  person  in  it  who  isn't  visibly  glad  to  be  there; 
there  isn't  a  person  in  the  dim  background  who  isn't 
visibly  trying  to  be  vivid ;  if  it  is  a  crowd  of  ten  thou 
sand  —  ten  thousand  proud,  untamed  democrats, 
horny-handed  sons  of  toil  and  of  politics,  and  fliers 
of  the  eagle — there  isn't  one  who  isn't  conscious  of 
the  camera,  there  isn't  one  who  is  trying  to  keep  out 
of  range,  there  isn't  one  who  isn't  plainly  meditating 
a  purchase  of  the  paper  in  the  morning,  with  the 
intention  of  hunting  himself  out  in  the  picture  and  of 
framing  and  keeping  it  if  he  shall  find  so  much  of  his 
person  in  it  as  his  starboard  ear. 

We  all  love  to  get  some  of  the  drippings  of  Con- 
spicuousness,  and  we  will  put  up  with  a  single,  hum 
ble  drip,  if  we  can't  get  any  more.  We  may  pretend 

otherwise,  in  conversation;    but  we  can't  pretend  it 
19 


282  The  $30,000  Bequest 

to  ourselves  privately — and  we  don't.  We  do  confess 
in  public  that  we  are  the  noblest  work  of  God,  being 
moved  to  it  by  long  habit,  and  teaching,  and  supersti 
tion  ;  but  deep  down  in  the  secret  places  of  our  souls 
we  recognize  that,  if  we  are  the  noblest  work,  the  less 
said  about  it  the  better. 

We  of  the  North  poke  fun  at  the  South  for  its  fond 
ness  for  titles — a  fondness  for  titles  pure  and  simple, 
regardless  of  whether  they  are  genuine  or  pinchbeck. 
We  forget  that  whatever  a  Southerner  likes  the  rest 
of  the  human  race  likes,  and  that  there  is  no  law  of 
predilection  lodged  in  one  people  that  is  absent  from 
another  people.  There  is  no  variety  in  the  human 
race.  We  are  all  children,  all  children  of  the  one 
Adam,  and  we  love  toys.  We  can  soon  acquire  that 
Southern  disease  if  some  one  will  give  it  a  start.  It 
already  has  a  start,  in  fact.  I  have  been  personally 
acquainted  with  over  eighty-four  thousand  persons 
who,  at  one  time  or  another  in  their  lives,  have  served 
for  a  year  or  two  on  the  staffs  of  our  multitudinous 
governors,  and  through  that  fatality  have  been  gen 
erals  temporarily,  and  colonels  temporarily,  and  judge- 
advocates  temporarily;  but  I  have  known  only  nine 
among  them  who  could  be  hired  to  let  the  title  go 
when  it  ceased  to  be  legitimate.  I  know  thousands 
and  thousands  of  governors  who  ceased  to  be  governors 
away  back  in  the  last  century ;  but  I  am  acquainted 
with  only  three  who  would  answer  your  letter  if  you 
failed  to  call  them  "Governor"  in  it.  I  know  acres 
and  acres  of  men  who  have  done  time  in  a  legislature 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord  ?        283 

in  prehistoric  days,  but  among  them  is  not  half  an 
acre  whose  resentment  you  would  not  raise  if  you 
addressed  them  as  "Mr."  instead  of  "Hon."  The 
first  thing  a  legislature  does  is  to  convene  in  an  im 
pressive  legislative  attitude,  and  get  itself  photo 
graphed.  Each  member  frames  his  copy  and  takes  it 
to  the  woods  and  hangs  it  up  in  the  most  aggressively 
conspicuous  place  in  his  house;  and  if  you  visit  the 
house  and  fail  to  inquire  what  that  accumulation  is, 
the  conversation  will  be  brought  around  to  it  by  that 
aforetime  legislator,  and  he  will  show  you  a  figure  in 
it  which  in  the  course  of  years  he  has  almost  obliter 
ated  with  the  smut  of  his  finger-marks,  and  say  with 
a  solemn  joy,  "It's  me!" 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  country  Congressman  enter 
the  hotel  breakfast-room  in  Washington  with  his  let 
ters? — and  sit  at  his  table  and  let  on  to  read  them? 
— and  wrinkle  his  brows  and  frown  statesman-like  ? — - 
keeping  a  furtive  watch-out  over  his  glasses  all  the 
while  to  see  if  he  is  being  observed  and  admired  ? — 
those  same  old  letters  which  he  fetches  in  every 
morning?  Have  you  seen  it?  Have  you  seen  him 
show  off?  It  is  the  sight  of  the  national  capital. 
Except  one ;  a  pathetic  one.  That  is  the  ex-Congress 
man:  the  poor  fellow  whose  life  has  been  ruined  by  a 
two-year  taste  of  glory  and  of  fictitious  consequence ; 
who  has  been  superseded,  and  ought  to  take  his  heart 
break  home  and  hide  it,  but  cannot  tear  himself  away 
from  the  scene  of  his  lost  little  grandeur;  and  so  he 
lingers,  and  still  lingers,  year  after  year,  unconsidered, 


284  The  $30,000  Bequest 

sometimes  snubbed,  ashamed  of  his  fallen  estate,  and 
valiantly  trying  to  look  otherwise;  dreary  and  de 
pressed,  but  counterfeiting  breeziness  and  gayety, 
hailing  with  chummy  familiarity,  which  is  not  always 
welcomed,  the  more-fortunates  who  are  still  in  place 
and  were  once  his  mates.  Have  you  seen  him  ?  He 
clings  piteously  to  the  one  little  shred  that  is  left  of 
his  departed  distinction — the  "privilege  of  the  floor"; 
and  works  it  hard  and  gets  what  he  can  out  of  it. 
That  is  the  saddest  figure  I  know  of. 

Yes,  we  do  so  love  our  little  distinctions!  And 
then  we  loftily  scoff  at  a  Prince  for  enjoying  his  larger 
ones;  forgetting  that  if  we  only  had  his  chance — ah! 
"  Senator  "  is  not  a  legitimate  title.  A  Senator  has  no 
more  right  to  be  addressed  by  it  than  have  you  or  I ; 
but,  in  the  several  State  capitals  and  in  Washington, 
there  are  five  thousand  Senators  who  take  very  kindly 
to  that  fiction,  and  who  purr  gratefully  when  you 
call  them  by  it — which  you  may  do  quite  unrebuked. 
Then  those  same  Senators  smile  at  the  self-constructed 
majors  and  generals  and  judges  of  the  South! 

Indeed,  we  do  love  our  distinctions,  get  them  how 
we  may.  And  we  work  them  for  all  they  are  worth. 
In  prayer  we  call  ourselves  "worms  of  the  dust,"  but 
it  is  only  on  a  sort  of  tacit  understanding  that  the 
remark  shall  not  be  taken  at  par.  We — worms  of  the 
dust!  Oh,  no,  we  are  not  that.  Except  in  fact;  and 
we  do  not  deal  much  in  fact  when  we  are  contemplat 
ing  ourselves. 

As  a  race,  we  do  certainly  love  a  lord — let  him  be 


Does  the  Race  of  Man  Love  a  Lord?        285 

Croker,  or  a  duke,  or  a  prize-fighter,  or  whatever  other 
personage  shall  chance  to  be  the  head  of  our  group. 
Many  years  ago,  I  saw  a  greasy  youth  in  overalls 
standing  by  the  Herald  office,  with  an  expectant  look 
in  his  face.  Soon  a  large  man  passed  out,  and  gave 
him  a  pat  on  the  shoulder.  That  was  what  the  boy 
was  waiting  for — the  large  man's  notice.  The  pat 
made  him  proud  and  happy,  and  the  exultation  inside 
of  him  shone  out  through  his  eyes ;  and  his  mates  were 
there  to  see  the  pat  and  envy  it  and  wish  they  could 
have  that  glory.  The  boy  belonged  down  cellar  in 
the  press-room,  the  large  man  was  king  of  the  upper 
floors,  foreman  of  the  composing-room.  The  light  in 
the  boy's  face  was  worship,  the  foreman  was  his  lord, 
head  of  his  group.  The  pat  was  an  accolade.  It  was 
as  precious  to  the  boy  as  it  would  have  been  if  he 
had  been  an  aristocrat's  son  and  the  accolade  had 
been  delivered  by  his  sovereign  with  a  sword.  The 
quintessence  of  the  honor  was  all  there ;  there  was  no 
difference  in  values ;  in  truth  there  was  no  difference 
present  except  an  artificial  one — clothes. 

All  the  human  race  loves  a  lord — that  is,  it  loves 
to  look  upon  or  be  noticed  by  the  possessor  of  Power 
or  Conspicuousness ;  and  sometimes  animals,  born  to 
better  things  and  higher  ideals,  descend  to  man's 
level  in  this  matter.  In  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  I 
have  seen  a  cat  that  was  so  vain  of  being  the  personal 
friend  of  an  elephant  that  I  was  ashamed  of  her. 


EVE'S   DIARY 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    ORIGINAL 

QATURDAY. — I  am  almost  a  whole  day  old, 
O  now.  I  arrived  yesterday.  That  is  as  it  seems 
to  me.  And  it  must  be  so,  for  if  there  was  a  day- 
bef ore-yesterday  I  was  not  there  when  it  happened, 
or  I  should  remember  it.  It  could  be,  of  course, 
that  it  did  happen,  and  that  I  was  not  noticing. 
Very  well;  I  will  be  very  watchful,  now,  and  if  any 
day-before-yesterdays  happen  I  will  make  a  note  of 
it.  It  will  be  best  to  start  right  and  not  let  the 
record  get  confused,  for  some  instinct  tells  me  that 
these  details  are  going  to  be  important  to  the  his 
torian  some  day.  For  I  feel  like  an  experiment,  I 
feel  exactly  like  an  experiment;  it  would  be  impos 
sible  for  a  person  to  feel  more  like  an  experiment 
than  I  do,  and  so  I  am  coming  to  feel  convinced  that 
that  is  what  I  am — an  experiment;  just  an  experi 
ment,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  if  I  am  an  experiment,  am  I  the  whole  of  it  ? 
No,  I  think  not;  I  think  the  rest  of  it  is  part  of  it.  I 
am  the  main  part  of  it,  but  I  think  the  rest  of  it  has 


288  The  $30,000  Bequest 

its  share  in  the  matter.  Is  my  position  assured,  or 
do  I  have  to  watch  it  and  take  care  of  it  ?  The  lat 
ter,  perhaps.  Some  instinct  tells  me  that  eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of  supremacy.  [That  is  a  good 
phrase,  I  think,  for  one  so  young.] 

Everything  looks  better  to-day  than  it  did  yester 
day.  In  the  rush  of  finishing  up  yesterday,  the 
mountains  were  left  in  a  ragged  condition,  and  some 
of  the  plains  were  so  cluttered  with  rubbish  and 
remnants  that  the  aspects  were  quite  distressing. 
Noble  and  beautiful  works  of  art  should  not  be  sub 
jected  to  haste;  and  this  majestic  new  world  is 
indeed  a  most  noble  and  beautiful  work.  And  certain 
ly  marvellously  near  to  being  perfect,  notwithstand 
ing  the  shortness  of  the  time.  There  are  too  many 
stars  in  some  places  and  not  enough  in  others,  but 
that  can  be  remedied  presently,  no  doubt.  The 
moon  got  loose  last  night,  and  slid  down  and  fell  out 
of  the  scheme — a  very  great  loss ;  it  breaks  my  heart 
to  think  of  it.  There  isn't  another  thing  among 
the  ornaments  and  decorations  that  is  comparable 
to  it  for  beauty  and  finish.  It  should  have  been 
fastened  better.  If  we  can  only  get  it  back  again — 

But  of  course  there  is  no  telling  where  it  went  to. 
And  besides,  whoever  gets  it  will  hide  it;  I  know  it 
because  I  would  do  it  myself.  I  believe  I  can  be 
honest  in  all  other  matters,  but  I  already  begin  to 
realize  that  the  core  and  centre  of  my  nature  is  love 
of  the  beautiful,  a  passion  for  the  beautiful,  and  that 
it  would  not  be  safe  to  trust  me  with  a  moon  that 


Eve's  Diary  289 

belonged  to  another  person  and  that  person  didn't 
know  I  had  it.  I  could  give  up  a  moon  that  I  found 
in  the  daytime,  because  I  should  be  afraid  some  one 
was  looking;  but  if  I  found  it  in  the  dark,  I  am  sure 
I  should  find  some  kind  of  an  excuse  for  not  saying 
anything  about  it.  For  I  do  love  moons,  they  are 
so  pretty  and  so  romantic.  I  wish  we  had  five  or 
six;  I  would  never  go  to  bed;  I  should  never  get 
tired  lying  on  the  moss-bank  and  looking  up  at  them. 

Stars  are  good,  too.  I  wish  I  could  get  some  to 
put  in  my  hair.  But  I  suppose  I  never  can.  You 
would  be  surprised  to  find  how  far  off  they  are,  for 
they  do  not  look  it.  When  they  first  showed,  last 
night,  I  tried  to  knock  some  down  with  a  pole,  but  it 
didn't  reach,  which  astonished  me;  then  I  tried  clods 
till  I  was  all  tired  out,  but  I  never  got  one.  It  was 
because  I  am  left-handed  and  cannot  throw  good. 
Even  when  I  aimed  at  the  one  I  wasn't  after  I 
couldn't  hit  the  other  one,  though  I  did  make  some 
close  shots,  for  I  saw  the  black  blot  of  the  clod  sail 
right  into  the  midst  of  the  golden  clusters  forty  or  fifty 
times,  just  barely  missing  them,  and  if  I  could  have 
held  out  a  little  longer  maybe  I  could  have  got  one. 

So  I  cried  a  little,  which  was  natural,  I  suppose, 
for  one  of  my  age,  and  after  I  was  rested  I  got  a 
basket  and  started  for  a  place  on  the  extreme  rim  of 
the  circle,  where  the  stars  were  close  to  the  ground 
and  I  could  get  them  with  my  hands,  which  would 
be  better,  anyway,  because  I  could  gather  them  ten 
derly  then,  and  not  break  them.  But  it  was  farther 


290  The  $30,000  Bequest 

than  I  thought,  and  at  last  I  had  to  give  it  up ;  I  was 
so  tired  I  couldn't  drag  my  feet  another  step;  and 
besides,  they  were  sore  and  hurt  me  very  much. 

I  couldn't  get  back  home;  it  was  too  far  and  turn 
ing  cold;  but  I  found  some  tigers  and  nestled  in 
among  them  and  was  most  adorably  comfortable, 
and  their  breath  was  sweet  and  pleasant,  because 
they  live  on  strawberries.  I  had  never  seen  a  tiger 
before,  but  I  knew  them  in  a  minute  by  the  stripes. 
If  I  could  have  one  of  those  skins,  it  would  make  a 
lovely  gown. 

To-day  I  am  getting  better  ideas  about  distances. 
I  was  so  eager  to  get  hold  of  every  pretty  thing  that 
I  giddily  grabbed  for  it,  sometimes  when  it  was  too 
far  off,  and  sometimes  when  it  was  but  six  inches 
away  but  seemed  a  foot — alas,  with  thorns  between! 
I  learned  a  lesson;  also  I  made  an  axiom,  all  out  of 
my  own  head — my  very  first  one:  The  scratched  Ex 
periment  shuns  the  thorn.  I  think  it  is  a  very  good 
one  for  one  so  young. 

I  followed  the  other  Experiment  around,  yester 
day  afternoon,  at  a  distance,  to  see  what  it  might  be 
for,  if  I  could.  But  I  was  not  able  to  make  out.  I 
think  it  is  a  man.  I  had  never  seen  a  man,  but  it 
looked  like  one,  and  I  feel  sure  that  that  is  what  it 
is.  I  realize  that  I  feel  more  curiosity  about  it  than 
about  any  of  the  other  reptiles.  If  it  is  a  reptile, 
and  I  suppose  it  is;  for  it  has  frowsy  hair  and  blue 
eyes,  and  looks  like  a  reptile.  It  has  no  hips;  it 
tapers  like  a  carrot;  when  it  stands,  it  spreads  itself 


Eve's  Diary  291 

apart  like  a  derrick;  so  I  think  it  is  a  reptile,  though 
it  may  be  architecture. 

I  was  afraid  of  it  at  first,  and  started  to  run  every 
time  it  turned  around,  for  I  thought  it  was  going  to 
chase  me;  but  by-and-by  I  found  it  was  only  trying 
to  get  away,  so  after  that  I  was  not  timid  any  more, 
but  tracked  it  along,  several  hours,  about  twenty 
yards  behind,  which  made  it  nervous  and  unhappy. 
At  last  it  was  a  good  deal  worried,  and  climbed  a 
tree.  I  waited  a  good  while,  then  gave  it  up  and 
went  home. 

To-day  the  same  thing  over.  I've  got  it  up  the 
tree  again. 

Sunday. — It  is  up  there  yet.  Resting,  apparently. 
But  that  is  a  subterfuge:  Sunday  isn't  the  day  of 
rest;  Saturday  is  appointed  for  that.  It  looks  to  me 
like  a  creature  that  is  more  interested  in  resting  than 
in  anything  else.  It  would  tire  me  to  rest  so  much. 
It  tires  me  just  to  sit  around  and  watch  the  tree.  I 
do  wonder  what  it  is  for ;  I  never  see  it  do  anything. 

They  returned  the  moon  last  night,  and  I  was 
so  happy!  I  think  it  is  very  honest  of  them.  It 
slid  down  and  fell  off  again,  but  I  was  not  dis 
tressed  ;  there  is  no  need  to  worry  when  one  has  that 
kind  of  neighbors ;  they  will  fetch  it  back.  I  wish  I 
could  do  something  to  show  my  appreciation.  I 
would  like  to  send  them  some  stars,  for  we  have 
more  than  we  can  use.  I  mean  I,  not  we,  for  I  can 
see  that  the  reptile  cares  nothing  for  such  things. 


292  The  $30,000  Bequest 

It  has  low  tastes,  and  is  not  kind.  When  I  went 
there  yesterday  evening  in  the  gloaming  it  had  crept 
down  and  was  trying  to  catch  the  little  speckled 
fishes  that  play  in  the  pool,  and  I  had  to  clod  it  to 
make  it  go  up  the  tree  again  and  let  them  alone.  I 
wonder  if  that  is  what  it  is  for  ?  Hasn't  it  any  heart  ? 
Hasn't  it  any  compassion  for  those  little  creatures  ? 
Can  it  be  that  it  was  designed  and  manufactured  for 
such  ungentle  work?  It  has  the  look  of  it.  One 
of  the  clods  took  it  back  of  the  ear,  and  it  used  lan 
guage.  It  gave  me  a  thrill,  for  it  was  the  first  time 
I  had  ever  heard  speech,  except  my  own.  I  did  not 
understand  the  words,  but  they  seemed  expressive. 

When  I  found  it  could  talk  I  felt  a  new  interest  in 
it,  for  I  love  to  talk;  I  talk,  all  day,  and  in  my  sleep, 
too,  and  I  am  very  interesting,  but  if  I  had  another 
to  talk  to  I  could  be  twice  as  interesting,  and  would 
never  stop,  if  desired. 

If  this  reptile  is  a  man,  it  isn't  an  it,  is  it  ?  That 
wouldn't  be  grammatical,  would  it?  I  think  it 
would  be  he.  I  think  so.  In  that  case  one  would 
parse  it  thus:  nominative,  he;  dative,  him;  possessive, 
his'n.  Well,  I  will  consider  it  a  man  and  call  it  he 
until  it  turns  out  to  be  something  else.  This  will  be 
handier  than  having  so  many  uncertainties. 

Next  week  Sunday. — All  the  week  I  tagged  around 
after  him  and  tried  to  get  acquainted.  I  had  to  do 
the  talking,  because  he  was  shy,  but  I  didn't  mind 
it.  He  seemed  pleased  to  have  me  around,  and  I 


Eve's  Diary  293 

used   the   sociable    "we"    a   good    deal,    because   it 
seemed  to  flatter  him  to  be  included. 


Wednesday. — We  are  getting  along  very  well  in 
deed,  now,  and  getting  better  and  better  acquainted. 
He  does  not  try  to  avoid  me  any  more,  which  is  a 
good  sign,  and  shows  that  he  likes  to  have  me  with 
him.  That  pleases  me,  and  I  study  to  be  useful  to 
him  in  every  way  I  can,  so  as  to  increase  his  regard. 
During  the  last  day  or  two  I  have  taken  all  the  work 
of  naming  things  off  his  hands,  and  this  has  been  a 
great  relief  to  him,  for  he  has  no  gift  in  that  line,  and 
is  evidently  very  grateful.  He  can't  think  of  a  ra 
tional  name  to  save  him,  but  I  do  not  let  him  see 
that  I  am  aware  of  his  defect.  Whenever  a  new 
creature  comes  along  I  name  it  before  he  has  time 
to  expose  himself  by  an  awkward  silence.  In  this 
way  I  have  saved  him  many  embarrassments.  I 
have  no  defect  like  his.  The  minute  I  set  eyes  on 
an  animal  I  know  what  it  is.  I  don't  have  to  reflect 
a  moment;  the  right  name  comes  out  instantly,  just 
as  if  it  were  an  inspiration,  as  no  doubt  it  is,  for  I 
am  sure  it  wasn't  in  me  half  a  minute  before.  I 
seem  to  know  just  by  the  shape  of  the  creature  and 
the  way  it  acts  what  animal  it  is. 

When  the  dodo  came  along  he  thought  it  was  a 
wild-cat  —  I  saw  it  in  his  eye.  But  I  saved  him. 
And  I  was  careful  not  to  do  it  in  a  way  that  could 
hurt  his  pride.  I  just  spoke  up  in  a  quite  natural 
way  of  pleased  surprise,  and  not  as  if  I  was  dreaming 


294  The  $30,000  Bequest 

of  conveying  information,  and  said,  "Well,  I  do  de 
clare,  if  there  isn't  the  dodo!"  I  explained — with 
out  seeming  to  be  explaining — how  I  knew  it  for  a 
dodo,  and  although  I  thought  maybe  he  was  a  little 
piqued  that  I  knew  the  creature  when  he  didn't, 
it  was  quite  evident  that  he  admired  me.  That 
was  very  agreeable,  and  I  thought  of  it  more  than 
once  with  gratification  before  I  slept.  How  little  a 
thing  can  make  us  happy  when  we  feel  that  we  have 
earned  it. 

Thursday. — My  first  sorrow.  Yesterday  he  avoid 
ed  me  and  seemed  to  wish  I  would  not  talk  to  him. 
I  could  not  believe  it,  and  thought  there  was  some 
mistake,  for  I  loved  to  be  with  him,  and  loved  to 
hear  him  talk,  and  so  how  could  it  be  that  he  could 
feel  unkind  towards  me  when  I  had  not  done  any 
thing?  But  at  last  it  seemed  true,  so  I  went  away 
and  sat  lonely  in  the  place  where  I  first  saw  him  the 
morning  that  we  were  made  and  I  did  not  know 
what  he  was  and  was  indifferent  about  him ;  but  now 
it  was  a  mournful  place,  and  every  little  thing  spoke 
of  him,  and  my  heart  was  very  sore.  I  did  not 
know  why  very  clearly,  for  it  was  a  new  feeling;  I 
had  not  experienced  it  before,  and  it  was  all  a  mys 
tery,  and  I  could  not  make  it  out. 

But  when  night  came  I  could  not  bear  the  lone- 
someness,  and  went  to  the  new  shelter  which  he  has 
built,  to  ask  him  what  I  had  done  that  was  wrong 
and  how  I  could  mend  it  and  get  back  his  kindness 


Eve's  Diary  295 

again ;  but  he  put  me  out  in  the  rain,  and  it  was  my 
first  sorrow. 


Sunday. — It  is  pleasant  again,  now,  and  I  am 
happy;  but  those  were  heavy  days;  I  do  not  think 
of  them  when  I  can  help  it. 

I  tried  to  get  him  some  of  those  apples,  but  I  can 
not  learn  to  throw  straight.  I  failed,  but  I  think  the 
good  intention  pleased  him.  They  are  forbidden,  and 
he  says  I  shall  come  to  harm ;  but  so  I  come  to  harm 
through  pleasing  him,  why  shall  I  care  for  that  harm  ? 

Monday. — This  morning  I  told  him  my  name, 
hoping  it  would  interest  him.  But  he  did  not  care 
for  it.  It  is  strange.  If  he  should  tell  me  his  name, 
I  would  care.  I  think  it  would  be  pleasanter  in  my 
ears  than  any  other  sound. 

He  talks  very  little.  Perhaps  it  is  because  he  is 
not  bright,  and  is  sensitive  about  it  and  wishes  to 
conceal  it.  It  is  such  a  pity  that  he  should  feel  so, 
for  brightness  is  nothing;  it  is  in  the  heart  that  the 
values  lie.  I  wish  I  could  make  him  understand 
that  a  loving  good  heart  is  riches,  and  riches  enough, 
and  that  without  it  intellect  is  poverty. 

Although  he  talks  so  little  he  has  quite  a  consider 
able  vocabulary.  This  morning  he  used  a  surpris 
ingly  good  word.  He  evidently  recognized,  himself, 
that  it  was  a  good  one,  for  he  worked  it  in  twice 
afterwards,  casually.  It  was  not  good  casual  art, 
still  it  showed  that  he  possesses  a  certain  quality  of 


296  The  $30,000  Bequest 

perception.  Without  a  doubt  that  seed  can  be 
made  to  grow,  if  cultivated. 

Where  did  he  get  that  word?  I  do  not  think  I 
have  ever  used  it. 

No,  he  took  no  interest  in  my  name.  I  tried  to 
hide  my  disappointment,  but  I  suppose  I  did  not 
succeed.  I  went  away  and  sat  on  the  moss-bank 
with  my  feet  in  the  water.  It  is  where  I  go  when  I 
hunger  for  companionship,  some  one  to  look  at, 
some  one  to  talk  to.  It  is  not  enough — that  lovely 
white  body  painted  there  in  the  pool — but  it  is 
something,  and  something  is  better  than  utter  loneli 
ness.  It  talks  when  I  talk ;  it  is  sad  when  I  am  sad ; 
it  comforts  me  with  its  sympathy;  it  says,  "Do  not 
be  downhearted,  you  poor  friendless  girl;  I  will  be 
your  friend."  It  is  a  good  friend  to  me,  and  my 
only  one;  it  is  my  sister. 

That  first  time  that  she  forsook  me!  ah,  I  shall 
never  forget  that — never,  never.  My  heart  was  lead 
in  my  body!  I  said,  "She  was  all  I  had,  and  now 
she  is  gone!"  In  my  despair  I  said,  "Break,  my 
heart;  I  cannot  bear  my  life  any  more!"  and  hid  my 
face  in  my  hands,  and  there  was  no  solace  for  me. 
And  when  I  took  them  away,  after  a  little,  there 
she  was  again,  white  and  shining  and  beautiful,  and 
I  sprang  into  her  arms! 

That  was  perfect  happiness;  I  had  known  happi 
ness  before,  but  it  was  not  like  this,  which  was 
ecstasy.  I  never  doubted  her  afterwards.  Some 
times  she  stayed  away — maybe  an  hour,  maybe  al- 


Eve's  Diary  297 

most  the  whole  day,  but  I  waited  and  did  not  doubt; 
I  said,  "She  is  busy,  or  she  is  gone  a  journey,  but 
she  will  come."  And  it  was  so:  she  always  did.  At 
night  she  would  not  come  if  it  was  dark,  for  she  was 
a  timid  little  thing;  but  if  there  was  a  moon  she 
would  come.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  dark,  but  she  is 
younger  than  I  am;  she  was  born  after  I  was.  Many 
and  many  are  the  visits  I  have  paid  her;  she  is  my 
comfort  and  my  refuge  when  my  life  is  hard — and  it 
is  mainly  that. 

Tuesday. — All  the  morning  I  was  at  work  improv 
ing  the  estate;  and  I  purposely  kept  away  from  him 
in  the  hope  that  he  would  get  lonely  and  come.  But 
he  did  not. 

At  noon  I  stopped  for  the  day  and  took  my  recrea 
tion  by  flitting  all  about  with  the  bees  and  the  but 
terflies  and  revelling  in  the  flowers,  those  beautiful 
creatures  that  catch  the  smile  of  God  out  of  the  sky 
and  preserve  it!  I  gathered  them,  and  made  them 
into  wreaths  and  garlands  and  clothed  myself  in 
them  while  I  ate  my  luncheon  —  apples,  of  course; 
then  I  sat  in  the  shade  and  wished  and  waited.  But 
he  did  not  come. 

But  no  matter.  Nothing  would  have  come  of  it, 
for  he  does  not  care  for  flowers.  He  calls  them  rub 
bish,  and  cannot  tell  one  from  another,  and  thinks 
it  is  superior  to  feel  like  that.  He  does  not  care  for 
me,  he  does  not  care  for  flowers,  he  does  not  care 
for  the  painted  sky  at  eventide — is  there  anything 


298  The  $30,000  Bequest 

he  does  care  for,  except  building  shacks  to  coop  him 
self  up  in  from  the  good  clean  rain,  and  thumping 
the  melons,  and  sampling  the  grapes,  and  fingering 
the  fruit  on  the  trees,  to  see  how  those  properties 
are  coming  along? 

I  laid  a  dry  stick  on  the  ground  and  tried  to  bore 
a  hole  in  it  with  another  one,  in  order  to  carry  out  a 
scheme  that  I  had,  and  soon  I  got  an  awful  fright. 
A  thin,  transparent  bluish  film  rose  out  of  the  hole, 
and  I  dropped  everything  and  ran!  I  thought  it 
was  a  spirit,  and  I  was  so  frightened!  But  I  looked 
back,  and  it  was  not  coming;  so  I  leaned  against  a 
rock  and  rested  and  panted,  and  let  my  limbs  go  on 
trembling  until  they  got  steady  again;  then  I  crept 
warily  back,  alert,  watching,  and  ready  to  fly  if  there 
was  occasion;  and  when  I  was  come  near,  I  parted 
the  branches  of  a  rose-bush  and  peeped  through — 
wishing  the  man  was  about,  I  was  looking  so  cun 
ning  and  pretty — but  the  sprite  was  gone.  I  went 
there,  and  there  was  a  pinch  of  delicate  pink  dust  in 
the  hole.  I  put  my  finger  in,  to  feel  it,  and  said 
ouch  !  and  took  it  out  again.  It  was  a  cruel  pain.  I 
put  my  finger  in  my  mouth;  and  by  standing  first 
on  one  foot  and  then  the  other,  and  grunting,  I  pres 
ently  eased  my  misery;  then  I  was  full  of  interest, 
and  began  to  examine. 

I  was  curious  to  know  what  the  pink  dust  was. 
Suddenly  the  name  of  it  occurred  to  me,  though  I 
had  never  heard  of  it  before.  It  was  fire!  I  was 
as  certain  of  it  as  a  person  could  be  of  anything  in 


Eve's  Diary  299 

the  world.  So  without  hesitation  I  named  it  that — 
fire. 

I  had  created  something  that  didn't  exist  before; 
I  had  added  a  new  thing  to  the  world's  uncountable 
properties;  I  realized  this,  and  was  proud  of  my 
achievement,  and  was  going  to  run  and  find  him  and 
tell  him  about  it,  thinking  to  raise  myself  in  his 
esteem — but  I  reflected,  and  did  not  do  it.  No — he 
would  not  care  for  it.  He  would  ask  what  it  was 
good  for,  and  what  could  I  answer  ?  for  if  it  was 
not  good  for  something,  but  only  beautiful,  merely 
beautiful — 

So  I  sighed,  and  did  not  go.  For  it  wasn't  good 
for  anything ;  it  could  not  build  a  shack,  it  could  not 
improve  melons,  it  could  not  hurry  a  fruit  crop;  it 
was  useless,  it  was  a  foolishness  and  a  vanity;  he 
would  despise  it  and  say  cutting  words.  But  to  me 
it  was  not  despicable;  I  said,  "Oh,  you  fire,  I  love 
you,  you  dainty  pink  creature,  for  you  are  beautiful 
— and  that  is  enough!"  and  was  going  to  gather  it 
to  my  breast.  But  refrained.  Then  I  made  an 
other  maxim  out  of  my  own  head,  though  it  was  so 
nearly  like  the  first  one  that  I  was  afraid  it  was 
only  a  plagiarism:  "The  burnt  Experiment  shuns  the 
fire." 

I  wrought  again;  and  when  I  had  made  a  good 
deal  of  fire-dust  I  emptied  it  into  a  handful  of  dry 
broWn  grass,  intending  to  carry  it  home  and  keep  it 
always  and  play  with  it;  but  the  wind  struck  it  and 
it  sprayed  up  and  spat  out  at  me  fiercely,  and  I 


300  The  $30,000  Bequest 

dropped  it  and  ran.  When  I  looked  back  the  blue 
spirit  was  towering  up  and  stretching  and  rolling 
away  like  a  cloud,  and  instantly  I  thought  of  the 
name  of  it — smoke! — though,  upon  my  word,  I  had 
never  heard  of  smoke  before. 

Soon,  brilliant  yellow  -  and  -  red  flares  shot  up 
through  the  smoke,  and  I  named  them  in  an  instant 
— flames ! — and  I  was  right,  too,  though  these  were 
the  very  first  flames  that  had  ever  been  in  the  world. 
They  climbed  the  trees,  they  flashed  splendidly  in 
and  out  of  the  vast  and  increasing  volume  of  tum 
bling  smoke,  and  I  had  to  clap  my  hands  and  laugh 
and  dance  in  my  rapture,  it  was  so  new  and  strange 
and  so  wonderful  and  so  beautiful! 

He  came  running,  and  stopped  and  gazed,  and  said 
not  a  word  for  many  minutes.  Then  he  asked  what 
it  was.  Ah,  it  was  too  bad  that  he  should  ask  such 
a  direct  question.  I  had  to  answer  it,  of  course,  and 
I  did.  I  said  it  was  fire.  If  it  annoyed  him  that  I 
should  know  and  he  must  ask,  that  was  not  my  fault ; 
I  had  no  desire  to  annoy  him.  After  a  pause  he 
asked : 

"How  did  it  come?" 

Another  direct  question,  and  it  also  had  to  have  a 
direct  answer. 

"  I  made  it." 

The  fire  was  travelling  farther  and  farther  off. 
He  went  to  the  edge  of  the  burned  place  and  stood 
looking  down,  and  said: 

"What  are  these?" 


Eve's  Diary  301 

"Fire-coals." 

He  picked  up  one  to  examine  it,  but  changed  his 
mind  and  put  it  down  again.  Then  he  went  away. 
Nothing  interests  him. 

But  I  was  interested.  There  were  ashes,  gray  and 
soft  and  delicate  and  pretty  —  I  knew  what  they 
were  at  once.  And  the  embers;  I  knew  the  embers, 
too.  I  found  my  apples,  and  raked  them  out,  and 
was  glad;  for  I  am  very  young  and  my  appetite  is 
active.  But  I  was  disappointed;  they  were  all  burst 
open  and  spoiled.  Spoiled  apparently;  but  it  was 
not  so;  they  were  better  than  raw  ones.  Fire  is 
beautiful ;  some  day  it  will  be  useful,  I  think. 

Friday. — I  saw  him  again,  for  a  moment,  last 
Monday  at  nightfall,  but  only  for  a  moment.  I  was 
hoping  he  would  praise  me  for  trying  to  improve  the 
estate,  for  I  had  meant  well  and  had  worked  hard. 
But  he  was  not  pleased,  and  turned  away  and  left 
me.  He  was  also  displeased  on  another  account:  I 
tried  once  more  to  persuade  him  to  stop  going  over 
the  Falls.  That  was  because  the  fire  had  revealed 
to  me  a  new  passion — quite  new,  and  distinctly  dif 
ferent  from  love,  grief,  and  those  others  which  I  had 
already  discovered  —  fear.  And  it  is  horrible!  —  I 
wish  I  had  never  discovered  it;  it  gives  me  dark  mo 
ments,  it  spoils  my  happiness,  it  makes  me  shiver 
and  tremble  and  shudder.  But  I  could  not  persuade 
him,  for  he  has  not  discovered  fear  yet,  and  so  he 
could  not  understand  me. 


302  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Extract  from  Adam's  Diary 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  remember  that  she  is  very  young, 
a  mere  girl,  and  make  allowances.  She  is  all  interest, 
eagerness,  vivacity,  the  world  is  to  her  a  charm,  a  won 
der,  a  mystery,  a  joy;  she  can't  speak  for  delight  when 
she  finds  a  new  flower,  she  must  pet  it  and  caress  it  and 
smell  it  and  talk  to  it,  and  pour  out  endearing  names 
upon  it.  And  she  is  color-mad:  brown  rocks,  yellow 
sand,  gray  moss,  green  foliage,  blue  sky;  the  pearl  of 
the  dawn,  the  purple  shadows  on  the  mountains,  the 
golden  islands  floating  in  crimson  seas  at  sunset,  the 
pallid  moon  sailing  through  the  shredded  cloud-rack, 
the  star-jewels  glittering  in  the  wastes  of  space — none  of 
them  is  of  any  practical  value,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  but 
because  they  have  color  and  majesty,  that  is  enough  for 
her,  and  she  loses  her  mind  over  them.  If  she  could 
quiet  down  and  keep  still  a  couple  of  minutes  at  a  time, 
it  would  be  a  reposeful  spectacle.  In  that  case  I  think 
I  could  enjoy  looking  at  her;  indeed  I  am  sure  I  could, 
for  I  am  coming  to  realize  that  she  is  a  quite  remark 
ably  comely  creature  —  lithe,  slender,  trim,  rounded, 
shapely,  nimble,  graceful;  and  once  when  she  was 
standing  marble-white  and  sun-drenched  on  a  bowlder, 
with  her  young  head  tilted  back  and  her  hand  shading 
her  eyes,  watching  the  flight  of  a  bird  in  the  sky,  I  recog 
nized  that  she  was  beautiful. 

Monday  noon. — //  there  is  anything  on  the  planet 
that  she  is  not  interested  in  it  is  not  in  my  list.  There 
are  animals  that  I  am  indifferent  to,  but  it  is  not  so 
with  her.  She  has  no  discrimination,  she  takes  to  all 
of  them,  she  thinks  they  are  all  treasures,  every  new  one 
is  welcome. 


Eve's  Diary  303 

When  the  mighty  brontosaurus  came  striding  into 
camp,  she  regarded  it  as  an  acquisition,  I  considered  it 
a  calamity;  that  is  a  good  sample  of  the  lack  of  harmony 
that  prevails  in  our  views  of  things.  She  wanted  to  do 
mesticate  it,  I  wanted  to  make  it  a  present  of  the  home 
stead  and  move  out.  She  believed  it  could  be  tamed  by 
kind  treatment  and  would  be  a  good  pet;  I  said  a  pet 
twenty-one  feet  high  and  eighty-four  feet  long  would  be 
no  proper  thing  to  have  about  the  place,  because,  even 
with  the  best  intentions  and  without  meaning  any  harm, 
it  could  sit  down  on  the  house  and  mash  it,  for  any  one 
could  see  by  the  look  of  its  eye  that  it  was  absent-minded. 

Still,  her  heart  was  set  upon  having  that  monster, 
and  she  couldn't  give  it  up.  She  thought  we  could  start 
a  dairy  with  it,  and  wanted  me  to  help  her  milk  it;  but 
I  wouldn't;  it  was  too  risky.  The  sex  wasn't  right,  and 
we  hadn't  any  ladder  anyway.  Then  she  wanted  to 
ride  it,  and  look  at  the  scenery.  Thirty  or  forty  feet  of 
its  tail  was  lying  on  the  ground,  like  a  fallen  tree,  and 
she  thought  she  could  climb  it,  but  she  was  mistaken; 
when  she  got  to  the  steep  place  it  was  too  slick  and 
down  she  came,  and  would  have  hurt  herself  but  for  me. 

Was  she  satisfied  now  ?  No.  Nothing  ever  satisfies 
her  but  demonstration;  untested  theories  are  not  in  her 
line,  and  she  won't  have  them.  It  is  the  right  spirit,  I 
concede  it;  it  attracts  me;  I  feel  the  influence  of  it;  if  I 
were  with  her  more  I  think  I  should  take  it  up  myself. 
Well,  she  had  one  theory  remaining  about  this  colossus: 
she  thought  that  if  we  could  tame  him  and  make  him 
friendly  we  could  stand  him  in  the  river  and  use  him 
for  a  bridge.  It  turned  out  that  he  was  already  plenty 
tame  enough — at  least  as  far  as  she  was  concerned — so 
she  tried  her  theory,  but  it  failed;  every  time  she  got  him 


304  The  $30,000  Bequest 

properly  placed  in  the  river  and  went  ashore  to  cross 
over  on  him,  he  came  out  and  followed  her  around  like  a 
pet  mountain.  Like  the  other  animals.  They  all  do  that. 

Friday. — Tuesday  —  Wednesday — Thursday — and 
to-day:  all  without  seeing  him.  It  is  a  long  time  to  be 
alone ;  still,  it  is  better  to  be  alone  than  unwelcome. 

I  had  to  have  company — I  was  made  for  it,  I 
think — so  I  made  friends  with  the  animals.  They 
are  just  charming,  and  they  have  the  kindest  dis 
position  and  the  politest  ways ;  they  never  look  sour, 
they  never  let  you  feel  that  you  are  intruding,  they 
smile  at  you  and  wag  their  tail,  if  they've  got  one, 
and  they  are  always  ready  for  a  romp  or  an  excur 
sion  or  anything  you  want  to  propose.  I  think  they 
are  perfect  gentlemen.  All  these  days  we  have  had 
such  good  times,  and  it  hasn't  been  lonesome  for  me, 
ever.  Lonesome!  No,  I  should  say  not.  Why, 
there's  always  a  swarm  of  them  around — sometimes 
as  much  as  four  or  five  acres — you  can't  count  them; 
and  when  you  stand  on  a  rock  in  the  midst  and  look 
out  over  the  furry  expanse  it  is  so  mottled  and 
splashed  and  gay  with  color  and  frisking  sheen  and 
sun-flash,  and  so  rippled  with  stripes,  that  you 
might  think  it  was  a  lake,  only  you  know  it  isn't; 
and  there's  storms  of  sociable  birds,  and  hurricanes 
of  whirring  wings;  and  when  the  sun  strikes  all  that 
feathery  commotion,  you  have  a  blazing  up  of  all  the 
colors  you  can  think  of,  enough  to  put  your  eyes  out. 

We  have  made  long  excursions,  and  I  have  seen  a 


Eve's  Diary  305 

great  deal  of  the  world;  almost  all  of  it,  I  think;  and 
so  I  am  the  first  traveller,  and  the  only  one.  When 
we  are  on  the  march,  it  is  an  imposing  sight — there's 
nothin*g  like  it  anywhere.  For  comfort  I  ride  a  tiger 
or  a  leopard,  because  it  is  soft  and  has  a  round  back 
that  fits  me,  and  because  they  are  such  pretty  ani 
mals;  but  for  long  distance  or  for  scenery  I  ride  the 
elephant.  He  hoists  me  up  with  his  trunk,  but  I 
can  get  off  myself;  when  we  are  ready  to  camp,  he 
sits  and  I  slide  down  the  back  way. 

The  birds  and  animals  are  all  friendly  to  each 
other,  and  there  are  no  disputes  about  anything. 
They  all  talk,  and  they  all  talk  to  me,  but  it  must  be 
a  foreign  language,  for  I  cannot  make  out  a  word 
they  say ;  yet  they  often  understand  me  when  I  talk 
back,  particularly  the  dog  and  the  elephant.  It 
makes  me  ashamed.  It  shows  that  they  are  brighter 
than  I  am,  and  are  therefore  my  superiors.  It  an 
noys  me,  for  I  want  to  be  the  principal  Experiment 
myself — and  I  intend  to  be,  too. 

I  have  learned  a  number  of  things,  and  am  edu 
cated,  now,  but  I  wasn't  at  first.  I  was  ignorant  at 
first.  At  first  it  used  to  vex  me  because,  with  all 
my  watching,  I  was  never  smart  enough  to  be 
around  when  the  water  was  running  up-hill;  but 
now  I  do  not  mind  it.  I  have  experimented  and 
experimented  until  now  I  know  it  never  does  run  up 
hill,  except  in  the  dark.  I  know  it  does  in  the  dark, 
because  the  pool  never  goes  dry;  which  it  would,  of 
course,  if  the  water  didn't  come  back  in  the  night. 


}o6  The  $30,000  Bequest 

It  is  best  to  prove  things  by  actual  experiment ;  then 
you  know;  whereas  if  you  depend  on  guessing  and  sup 
posing  and  conjecturing,  you  will  never  get  educated. 

Some  things  you  can't  find  out;  but  you  wilf  never 
know  you  can't  by  guessing  and  supposing:  no,  you 
have  to  be  patient  and  go  on  experimenting  until 
you  find  out  that  you  can't  find  out.  And  it  is  de 
lightful  to  have  it  that  way,  it  makes  the  world  so 
interesting.  If  there  wasn't  anything  to  find  out,  it 
would  be  dull.  Even  trying  to  find  out  and  not 
finding  out  is  just  as  interesting  as  trying  to  find 
out  and  finding  out,  and  I  don't  know  but  more  so. 
The  secret  of  the  water  was  a  treasure  until  I  got  it ; 
then  the  excitement  all  went  away,  and  I  recognized 
a  sense  of  loss. 

By  experiment  I  know  that  wood  swims,  and  dry 
leaves,  and  feathers,  and  plenty  of  other  things; 
therefore  by  all  that  cumulative  evidence  you  know 
that  a  rock  will  swim;  but  you  have  to  put  up  with 
simply  knowing  it,  for  there  isn't  any  way  to  prove 
it — up  to  now.  But  I  shall  find  a  way — then  that 
excitement  will  go.  Such  things  make  me  sad;  be 
cause  by-and-by  when  I  have  found  out  everything 
there  won't  be  any  more  excitements,  and  I  do  love 
excitements  so!  The  other  night  I  couldn't  sleep 
for  thinking  about  it. 

At  first  I  couldn't  make  out  what  I  was  made  for, 
but  now  I  think  it  was  to  search  out  the  secrets  of 
this  wonderful  world  and  be  happy  and  thank  the 
Giver  of  it  all  for  devising  it.  I  think  there  are 


Eve's  Diary  307 

many  things  to  learn  yet — I  hope  so;  and  by  econo 
mizing  and  not  hurrying  too  fast  I  think  they  will 
last  weeks  and  weeks.  I  hope  so.  When  you  cast 
up  a  feather  it  sails  away  on  the  air  and  goes  out  of 
sight;  then  you  throw  up  a  clod  and  it  doesn't.  It 
comes  down,  every  time.  I  have  tried  it  and  tried 
it,  and  it  is  always  so.  I  wonder  why  it  is?  Of 
course  it  doesn't  come  down,  but  why  should  it  seem 
to  ?  I  suppose  it  is  an  optical  illusion.  I  mean,  one 
of  them  is.  I  don't  know  which  one.  It  may  be 
the  feather,  it  may  be  the  clod;  I  can't  prove  which 
it  is,  I  can  only  demonstrate  that  one  or  the  other  is 
a  fake,  and  let  a  person  take  his  choice. 

By  watching,  I  know  that  the  stars  are  not  going 
to  last.  I  have  seen  some  of  the  best  ones  melt  and 
run  down  the  sky.  Since  one  can  melt,  they  can  all 
melt;  since  they  can  all  melt,  they  can  all  melt  the 
same  night.  That  sorrow  will  come — I  know  it.  I 
mean  to  sit  up  every  night  and  look  at  them  as  long  as 
I  can  keep  awake;  and  I  will  impress  those  sparkling 
fields  on  my  memory,  so  that  by-and-by  when  they 
are  taken  away  I  can  by  my  fancy  restore  those  lovely 
myriads  to  the  black  sky  and  make  them  sparkle 
again,  and  double  them  by  the  blur  of  my  tears. 

AFTER  THE  FALL 

When  I  look  back,  the  Garden  is  a  dream  to  me. 
It  was  beautiful,  surpassingly  beautiful,  enchant- 
ingly  beautiful;  and  now  it  is  lost,  and  I  shall  not  see 
it  any  more. 


308  The  $30,000  Bequest 

The  Garden  is  lost,  but  I  have  found  him,  and  am 
content.  He  loves  me  as  well  as  he  can;  I  love  him 
with  all  the  strength  of  my  passionate  nature,  and 
this,  I  think,  is  proper  to  my  youth  and  sex.  If  I 
ask  myself  why  I  love  him,  I  find  I  do  not  know, 
and  do  not  really  much  care  to  .know;  so  I  suppose 
that  this  kind  of  love  is  not  a  product  of  reasoning 
and  statistics,  like  one's  love  for  other  reptiles  and 
animals.  I  think  that  this  must  be  so.  I  love  cer 
tain  birds  because  of  their  song;  but  I  do  not  love 
Adam  on  account  of  his  singing — no,  it  is  not  that; 
the  more  he  sings  the  more  I  do  not  get  reconciled 
to  it.  Yet  I  ask  him  to  sing,  because  I  wish  to 
learn  to  like  everything  he  is  interested  in.  I  am 
sure  I  can  learn,  because  at  first  I  could  not  stand  it, 
but  now  I  can.  It  sours  the  milk,  but  it  doesn't 
matter ;  I  can  get  used  to  that  kind  of  milk. 

It  is  not  on  account  of  his  brightness  that  I  love 
him — no,  it  is  not  that.  He  is  not  to  blame  for  his 
brightness,  such  as  it  is,  for  he  did  not  make  it  him 
self;  he  is  as  God  made  him,  and  that  is  sufficient. 
There  was  a  wise  purpose  in  it,  that  I  know.  In  time 
it  will  develop,  though  I  think  it  will  not  be  sudden; 
and  besides,  there  is  no  hurry;  he  is  well  enough  just 
as  he  is. 

It  is  not  on  account  of  his  gracious  and  considerate 
ways  and  his  delicacy  that  I  love  him.  No,  he  has 
lacks  in  these  regards,  but  he  is  well  enough  just  so, 
and  is  improving. 

It  is  not  on  account  of  his  industry  that  I  love 


Eve's  Diary  309 

him — no,  it  is  not  that.  I  think  he  has  it  in  him, 
and  I  do  not  know  why  he  conceals  it  from  me.  It 
is  my  only  pain.  Otherwise  he  is  frank  and  open  with 
me,  now.  I  am  sure  he  keeps  nothing  from  me  but 
this.  It  grieves  me  that  he  should  have  a  secret  from 
me,  and  sometimes  it  spoils  my  sleep,  thinking  of  it, 
but  I  will  put  it  out  of  my  mind ;  it  shall  not  trouble 
my  happiness,  which  is  otherwise  full  to  overflowing. 

It  is  not  on  account  of  his  education  that  I  love 
him — no,  it  is  not  that.  He  is  self-educated,  and  does 
really  know  a  multitude  of  things,  but  they  are  not  so. 

It  is  not  on  account  of  his  chivalry  that  I  love 
him — no,  it  is  not  that.  He  told  on  me,  but  I  do 
not  blame  him;  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  sex,  I  think, 
and  he  did  not  make  his  sex.  Of  course  I  would  not 
have  told  on  him,  I  would  have  perished  first;  but 
that  is  a  peculiarity  of  sex,  too,  and  I  do  not  take 
credit  for  it,  for  I  did  not  make  my  sex. 

Then  why  is  it  that  I  love  him?  Merely  because 
he  is  masculine,  I  think. 

At  bottom  he  is  good,  and  I  love  him  for  that,  but 
I  could  love  him  without  it.  If  he  should  beat  me 
and  abuse  me,  I  should  go  on  loving  him.  I  know 
it.  It  is  a  matter  of  sex,  I  think. 

He  is  strong  and  handsome,  and  I  love  him  for  that, 
and  I  admire  him  and  am  proud  of  him,  but  I  could 
love  him  without  those  qualities.  If  he  were  plain,  I 
should  love  him ;  if  he  were  a  wreck,  I  should  love  him ; 
and  I  would  work  for  him,  and  slave  over  him,  and 
pray  for  him,  and  watch  by  his  bedside  until  I  died. 


310  The  $30,000  Bequest 

Yes,  I  think  I  love  him  merely  because  he  is  mine 
and  is  masculine.  There  is  no  other  reason,  I  sup 
pose.  And  so  I  think  it  is  as  I  first  said:  that  this 
kind  of  love  is  not  a  product  of  reasonings  and 
statistics.  It  just  comes  —  none  knows  whence  — 
and  cannot  explain  itself.  And  doesn't  need  to. 

It  is  what  I  think.  But  I  am  only  a  girl,  and  the 
first  that  has  examined  this  matter,  and  it  may  turn 
out  that  in  my  ignorance  and  inexperience  I  have 
not  got  it  right. 

FORTY    YEARS    LATER 

It  is  my  prayer,  it  is  my  longing,  that  We  may  pass 
from  this  life  together — a  longing  which  shall  never 
perish  from  the  earth,  but  shall  have  place  in  the 
heart  of  every  wife  that  loves,  until  the  end  of  time; 
and  it  shall  be  called  by  my  name. 

But  if  one  of  us  must  go  first,  it  is  my  prayer  that 
it  shall  be  I;  for  he  is  strong,  I  am  weak,  I  am  not 
so  necessary  to  him  as  he  is  to  me — life  without  him 
would  not  be  life;  how  could  I  endure  it?  This 
prayer  is  also  immortal,  and  will  not  cease  from  be 
ing  offered  up  while  my  race  continues.  I  am  the 
first  wife;  and  in  the  last  wife  I  shall  be  repeated. 

AT    EVE'S    GRAVE 

ADAM:  Wheresoever  she  was,  there  was  Eden. 


THE  INVALID'S  STORY 

I  SEEM  sixty  and  married,  but  these  effects  are  due 
to  my  condition  and  sufferings,  for  I  am  a 
bachelor,  and  only  forty-one.  It  will  be  hard  for 
you  to  believe  that  I,  who  am  now  but  a  shadow, 
was  a  hale,  hearty  man  two  short  years  ago, — 
a  man  of  iron,  a  very  athlete !  —  yet  such  is  the 
simple  truth.  But  stranger  still  than  this  fact 
is  the  way  in  which  I  lost  my  health.  I  lost  it 
through  helping  to  take  care  of  a  box  of  guns 
on  a  two-hundred-mile  railway  journey  one  winter's 
night.  It  is  the  actual  truth,  and  I  will  tell  you 
about  it. 

I  belong  in  Cleveland,  Ohio.  One  winter's  night, 
two  years  ago,  I  reached  home  just  after  dark,  in  a 
driving  snow-storm,  and  the  first  thing  I  heard  when  I 
entered  the  house  was  that  my  dearest  boyhood  friend 
and  schoolmate,  John  B.  Hackett,  had  died  the  day 
before,  and  that  his  last  utterance  had  been  a  desire 
that  I  would  take  his  remains  home  to  his  poor  old 
father  and  mother  in  Wisconsin.  I  was  greatly 
shocked  and  grieved,  but  there  was  no  time  to  waste 
in  emotions;  I  must  start  at  once.  I  took  the 


The   Invalid's   Story  313 

card,  marked  "  Deacon  Lev!  Hackett,  Bethlehem, 
Wisconsin,"  and  hurried  off  through  the  whistling 
storm  to  the  railway  station.  Arrived  there  I 
found  the  long  white-pine  box  which  had  been 
described  to  me;  I  fastened  the  card  to  it  with 
some  tacks,  saw  it  put  safely  aboard  the  express 
car,  and  then  ran  into  the  eating-room  to  provide 
myself  with  a  sandwich  and  some  cigars.  When  I 
returned,  presently,  there  was  my  coffin-box  back 
again,  apparently,  and  a  young  fellow  examining 
around  it,  with  a  card  in  his  hands,  and  some  tacks 
and  a  hammer  !  I  was  astonished  and  puzzled.  He 
began  to  nail  on  his  card,  and  I  rushed  out  to  the 
express  car,  in  a  good  deal  of  a  state  of  mind,  to  ask 
for  an  explanation.  But  no  —  there  was  my  box, 
all  right,  in  the  express  car ;  it  hadn't  been  disturbed. 
[The  fact  is  that  without  my  suspecting  it  a  pro 
digious  mistake  had  been  made.  I  was  carrying  off 
a  box  of  guns  which  that  young  fellow  had  come  to 
the  station  to  ship  to  a  rifle  company  in  Peoria, 
Illinois,  and  he  had  got  my  corpse  !]  Just  then  the 
conductor  sung  out  "  All  aboard,"  and  I  jumped 
into  the  express  car  and  got  a  comfortable  seat  on 
a  bale  of  buckets.  The  expressman  was  there,  hard 
at  work, —  a  plain  man  of  fifty,  with  a  simple,  honest, 
good-natured  face,  and  a  breezy,  practical  heartiness 
in  his  general  style.  As  the  train  moved  off  a  stranger 
skipped  into  the  car  and  set  a  package  of  peculiarly 
mature  and  capable  Limburger  cheese  on  one  end  of 
my  coffin-box  —  I  mean  my  box  of  guns.  That  is 


The   $30;000   Bequest 

to  say,  I  know  now  that  it  was  Limburgcr  cheese, 
but  at  that  time  I  never  had  heard  of  the  article  in 
my  life,  and  of  course  was  wholly  ignorant  of  its 
character.  Well,  we  sped  through  the  wild  night, 
the  bitter  storm  raged  on,  a  cheerless  misery  stole 
over  me,  my  heart  went  down,  down,  down !  The 
old  expressman  made  a  brisk  remark  or  two  about 
the  tempest  and  the  arctic  weather,  slammed  his 
sliding  doors  to,  and  bolted  them,  closed  his  window 
down  tight,  and  then  went  bustling  around,  here  and 
there  and  yonder,  setting  things  to  rights,  and  all  the 
time  contentedly  humming  "  Sweet  By  and  By,"  in 
a  low  tone,  and  flatting  a  good  deal.  Presently  I 
began  to  detect  a  most  evil  and  searching  odor  steal 
ing  about  on  the  frozen  air.  This  depressed  my 
spirits  still  more,  because  of  course  I  attributed  it  to 
my  poor  departed  friend.  There  was  something  in 
finitely  saddening  about  his  calling  himself  to  my  re 
membrance  in  this  dumb  pathetic  way,  so  it  was 
hard  to  keep  the  tears  back.  Moreover,  it  distressed 
me  on  account  of  the  old  expressman,  who,  I  was 
afraid,  might  notice  it.  However,  he  went  humming 
tranquilly  on,  and  gave  no  sign;  and  for  this  I  was 
grateful.  Grateful,  yes,  but  still  uneasy;  and  soon 
I  began  to  feel  more  and  more  uneasy  every  minute, 
for  every  minute  that  went  by  that  odor  thickened 
up  the  more,  and  got  to  be  more  and  more  gamey 
and  hard  to  stand.  Presently,  having  got  things 
arranged  to  his  satisfaction,  the  expressman  got  some 
wood  and  made  up  a  tremendous  fire  in  his  stove. 


The   Invalid's   Story  315 

This  distressed  me  more  than  I  can  tell,  for  I  could 
not  but  feel  that  it  was  a  mistake.  I  was  sure  that 
the  effect  would  be  deleterious  upon  my  poor  de 
parted  friend.  Thompson  —  the  expressman's  name 
was  Thompson,  as  I  found  out  in  the  course  of  the 
night  —  now  went  poking  around  his  car,  stopping 
up  whatever  stray  cracks  he  could  find,  remarking 
that  it  didn't  make  any  difference  what  kind  of  a 
night  it  was  outside,  he  calculated  to  make  us  com 
fortable,  anyway.  I  said  nothing,  but  I  believed  he 
was  not  choosing  the  right  way.  Meantime  he  was 
humming  to  himself  just  as  before ;  and  meantime, 
too,  the  stove  was  getting  hotter  and  hotter,  and  the 
place  closer  and  closer.  I  felt  myself  growing  pale 
and  qualmish,  but  grieved  in  silence  and  said  nothing. 
Soon  I  noticed  that  the  "  Sweet  By  and  By  "  was 
gradually  fading  out;  next  it  ceased  altogether,  and 
there  was  an  ominous  stillness.  After  a  few  moments 
Thompson  said, — 

"Pfew!  I  reckon  it  ain't  no  cinnamon  't  I've 
loaded  up  thish-yer  stove  with!" 

He  gasped  once  or  twice,  then  moved  toward  the 
cof — gun-box,  stood  over  that  Limburger  cheese 
part  of  a  moment,  then  came  back  and  sat  down 
near  me,  looking  a  good  deal  impressed.  After  a 
contemplative  pause,  he  said,  indicating  the  box  with 
a  gesture, — 

"  Friend  of  yourn  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said  with  a  sigh. 
*  He's  pretty  ripe,  ain't  he !" 


316  The   $30,000   Bequest 

Nothing  further  was  said  for  perhaps  a  couple  of 
minutes,  each  being  busy  with  his  own  thoughts; 
then  Thompson  said,  in  a  low,  awed  voice, — 

"  Sometimes  it's  uncertain  whether  they're  really 
gone  or  not, —  seem  gone,  you  know  —  body  warm, 
joints  limber  —  and  so,  although  you  think  they're 
gone,  you  don't  really  know.  I've  had  cases  in  my 
car.  It's  perfectly  awful,  becuz  you  don't  know 
what  minute  they'll  rise  up  and  look  at  you!" 
Then,  after  a  pause,  and  slightly  lifting  his  elbow 
toward  the  box, — "But  he  ain't  in  no  trance! 
No,  sir,  I  go  bail  for  him!" 

We  sat  some  time,  in  meditative  silence,  listen 
ing  to  the  wind  and  the  roar  of  the  train;  then 
Thompson  said,  with  a  good  deal  of  feeling, — 

'  Well-a-well,  we've  all  got  to  go,  they  ain't  no 
getting  around  it.  Man  that  is  born  of  woman  is  of 
few  days  and  far  between,  as  Scriptur'  says.  Yes, 
you  look  at  it  anyway  you  want  to,  it's  awful  solemn 
and  cur'us:  they  ain't  nobody  can  get  around  it; 
air s  got  to  go  —  just  everybody ,  as  you  may  say. 
One  day  you're  hearty  and  strong" — here  he 
scrambled  to  his  feet  and  broke  a  pane  and  stretched 
his  nose  out  at  it  a  moment  or  two,  then  sat  down 
again  while  I  struggled  up  and  thrust  my  nose  out  at 
the  same  place,  and  this  we  kept  on  doing  every  now 
and  then — *'  and  next  day  he's  cut  down  like  the 
grass,  and  the  places  which  knowed  him  then  knows 
him  no  more  forever,  as  Scriptur'  says.  Yes'ndeedy, 
it's  awful  solemn  and  cur'us;  but  we've  all  got  to 


The    Invalid's   Story  317 

go,   one   time   or   another;    they  ain't    no    getting 
around  it." 

There  was  another  long  pause ;  then, — 

14  What  did  he  die  of?" 

I  said  I  didn't  know. 

41  How  long  has  he  ben  dead?" 

It  seemed  judicious  to  enlarge  the  facts  to  fit  the 
probabilities;   so  I  said, — 
'  Two  or  three  days." 

But  it  did  no  good;  for  Thompson  received  it 
with  an  injured  look  which  plainly  said,  "  Two  or 
three  years,  you  mean."  Then  he  went  right  along, 
placidly  ignoring  my  statement,  and  gave  his  views 
at  considerable  length  upon  the  unwisdom  of  putting 
off  burials  too  long.  Then  he  lounged  off  toward 
the  box,  stood  a  moment,  then  came  back  on  a  sharp 
trot  and  visited  the  broken  pane,  observing, — 

"  'Twould  'a'  ben  a  dum  sight  better,  all  around, 
if  they'd  started  him  along  last  summer." 

Thompson  sat  down  and  buried  his  face  in  his  red 
silk  handkerchief,  and  began  to  slowly  sway  and 
rock  his  body  like  one  who  is  doing  his  best  to 
endure  the  almost  unendurable.  By  this  time  the 
fragrance  —  if  you  may  call  it  fragrance  —  was  just 
about  suffocating,  as  near  as  you  can  come  at  it. 
Thompson's  face  was  turning  gray;  I  knew  mine 
hadn't  any  color  left  in  it.  By  and  by  Thompson 
rested  his  forehead  in  his  left  hand,  with  his  elbow 
on  his  knee,  and  sort  of  waved  his  red  handkerchief 
towards  the  box  with  his  other  hand,  and  said, — 


The   $30,000    Bequest 

14  I've  carried  a  many  a  one  of  'em, —  some  of 
'em  considerable  overdue,  too, —  but,  lordy,  he  just 
lays  over  'em  all!  —  and  does  it  easy.  Cap.,  they 
was  heliotrope  to  him!  " 

This  recognition  of  my  poor  friend  gratified  me, 
in  spite  of  the  sad  circumstances,  because  it  had  so 
much  the  sound  of  a  compliment. 

Pretty  soon  it  was  plain  that  something  had  got 
to  be  done.  I  suggested  cigars.  Thompson  thought 
it  was  a  good  idea.  He  said, — 

11  Likely  it'll  modify  him  some." 

We  puffed  gingerly  along  for  a  while,  and  tried 
hard  to  imagine  that  things  were  improved.  But 
it  wasn't  any  use.  Before  very  long,  and  without 
any  consultation,  both  cigars  were  quietly  dropped 
from  our  nerveless  fingers  at  the  same  moment. 
Thompson  said,  with  a  sigh, — 

"  No,  Cap.,  it  don't  modify  him  worth  a  cent. 
Fact  is,  it  makes  him  worse,  becuz  it  appears  to 
stir  up  his  ambition.  What  do  you  reckon  we  better 
do,  now?" 

I  was  not  able  to  suggest  anything;  indeed,  I  had 
to  be  swallowing  and  swallowing,  all  the  time,  and 
did  not  like  to  trust  myself  to  speak.  Thompson 
fell  to  maundering,  in  a  desultory  and  low-spirited 
way,  about  the  miserable  experiences  of  this  night; 
and  he  got  to  referring  to  my  poor  friend  by  various 
titles, —  sometimes  military  ones,  sometimes  civil 
ones;  and  I  noticed  that  as  fast  as  my  poor  friend's 
effectiveness  grew,  Thompson  promoted  him  ac- 


The   Invalid's   Story  319 

cordingly, —  gave    him    a    bigger    title.      Finally    he 
said, — 

11  I've  got  an  idea.  Suppos'n  we  buckle  down  to 
it  and  give  the  Colonel  a  bit  of  a  shove  towards 
t'other  end  of  the  car?  —  about  ten  foot,  say.  He 
wouldn't  have  so  much  influence,  then,  don't  you 
reckon?" 

I  said  it  was  a  good  scheme.  So  we  took  in 
a  good  fresh  breath  at  the  broken  pane,  calculat 
ing  to  hold  it  till  we  got  through ;  then  we  went 
there  and  bent  over  that  deadly  cheese  and  took  a 
grip  on  the  box.  Thompson  nodded  "  All  ready," 
and  then  we  threw  ourselves  forward  with  all  our 
might;  but  Thompson  slipped,  and  slumped  down 
with  his  nose  on  the  cheese,  and  his  breath  got 
loose.  He  gagged  and  gasped,  and  floundered  up 
and  made  a  break  for  the  door,  pawing  the  air 
and  saying  hoarsely,  "Don't  hender  me!  —  gimme 
the  road!  I'm  a-dying;  gimme  the  road!"  Out 
on  the  cold  platform  I  sat  down  and  held  his  head 
a  while,  and  he  revived.  Presently  he  said, — 

"  Do  you  reckon  we  started  the  Gen'rul  any?" 

I  said  no;  we  hadn't  budged  him. 
4  Well,  then,  that  idea's  up  the  flume.  We  got 
to  think  up  something  else.  He's  suited  wher'  he 
is,  I  reckon;  and  if  that's  the  way  he  feels  about  it, 
and  has  made  up  his  mind  that  he  don't  wish  to  be 
disturbed,  you  bet  he's  a-going  to  have  his  own  way 
in  the  business.  Yes,  better  leave  him  right  wher' 
he  is,  long  as  he  wants  it  so ;  becuz  he  holds  all  the 


320  The   $30,000    Bequest 

trumps,  don't  you  know,  and  so  it  stands  to  reason 
that  the  man  that  lays  out  to  alter  his  plans  for  him 
is  going  to  get  left. ' ' 

But  we  couldn't  stay  out  there  in  that  mad  storm; 
we  should  have  frozen  to  death.  So  we  went  in 
again  and  shut  the  door,  and  began  to  suffer  once 
more  and  take  turns  at  the  break  in  the  window.  By 
and  by,  as  we  were  starting  away  from  a  station  where 
we  had  stopped  a  moment  Thompson  pranced  in 
cheerily,  and  exclaimed, — 

"We're  all  right,  now!  I  reckon  we've  got  the 
Commodore  this  time.  I  judge  I've  got  the  stuff 
here  that'll  take  the  tuck  out  of  him." 

It  was  carbolic  acid.  He  had  a  carboy  of  it.  He 
sprinkled  it  all  around  everywhere;  in  fact  he 
drenched  everything  with  it,  rifle-box,  cheese  and  all. 
Then  we  sat  down,  feeling  pretty  hopeful.  But  it 
wasn't  for  long.  You  see  the  two  perfumes  began 
to  mix,  and  then  —  well,  pretty  soon  we  made  a 
break  for  the  door ;  and  out  there  Thompson  swabbed 
his  face  with  his  bandanna  and  said  in  a  kind  of  dis 
heartened  way,- — 

"  It  ain't  no  use.  We  can't  buck  agin  him.  He 
just  utilizes  everything  we  put  up  to  modify  him  with, 
and  gives  it  his  own  flavor  and  plays  it  back  on  us. 
Why,  Cap.,  don't  you  know,  it's  as  much  as  a 
hundred  times  worse  in  there  now  than  it  was  when 
he  first  got  a-going.  I  never  did  see  one  of  'em 
warm  up  to  his  work  so,  and  take  such  a  dumnation 
interest  in  it.  No,  sir,  I  never  did,  as  long  as  I've 


AND    BREAKING    FOR    THE    PLATFORM,    THOMPSON    GOT 
SUFFOCATED    AND    FELL" 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


The   Invalid's   Story  321 

ben  on  the  road;  and  I've  carried  a  many  a  one  of 
'em,  as  I  was  telling  you." 

We  went  in  again  after  we  were  frozen  pretty 
stiff;  but  my,  we  couldn't  stay  in,  now.  So 
we  just  waltzed  back  and  forth,  freezing,  and 
thawing,  and  stifling,  by  turns.  In  about  an  hour 
we  stopped  at  another  station;  and  as  we  left  it 
Thompson  came  in  with  a  bag,  and  said, — 

"  Cap.,  I'm  a-going  to  chance  him  once  more, — 
just  this  once;  and  if  we  don't  fetch  him  this  time, 
the  thing  for  us  to  do,  is  to  just  throw  up  the  sponge 
and  withdraw  from  the  canvass.  That's  the  way  / 
put  it  up." 

He  had  brought  a  lot  of  chicken  feathers,  and 
dried  apples,  and  leaf  tobacco,  and  rags,  and  old 
shoes,  and  sulphur,  and  asafoetida,  and  one  thing  or 
another;  and  he  piled  them  on  a  breadth  of  sheet 
iron  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  set  fire  to  them. 

When  they  got  well  started,  I  couldn't  see,  myself, 
how  even  the  corpse  could  stand  it.  All  that  went 
before  was  just  simply  poetry  to  that  smell, — but 
mind  you,  the  original  smell  stood  up  out  of  it  just 
as  sublime  as  ever, — fact  is,  these  other  smells  just 
seemed  to  give  it  a  better  hold ;  and  my,  how  rich  it 
was!  I  didn't  make  these  reflections  there  —  there 
wasn't  time  —  made  them  on  the  platform.  And 
breaking  for  the  platform,  Thompson  got  suffocated 
and  fell ;  and  before  I  got  him  dragged  out,  which  I 
did  by  the  collar,  I  was  mighty  near  gone  myself. 
When  we  revived,  Thompson  said  dejectedly,— 


}22  The  $30,000   Bequest 

"  We  got  to  stay  out  here,  Cap.  We  got  to  do  it 
They  ain't  no  other  way.  The  Governor  wants  to 
travel  alone,  and  he's  fixed  so  he  can  outvote  us." 

And  presently  he  added, — 

*'  And  don't  you  know,  we're  pisoned.     It's  our 
last  trip,  you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  it.     Typhoid 
fever  is  what's  going  to  come  of  this.     I  feel  it  a- 
coming  right  now.     Yes,  sir,  we're  elected,  just  as 
sure  as  you're  born." 

We  were  taken  from  the  platform  an  hour  later, 
frozen  and  insensible,  at  the  next  station,  and  I  went 
straight  off  into  a  virulent  fever,  and  never  knew  any 
thing  again  for  three  weeks.  I  found  out,  then,  that 
I  had  spent  that  awful  night  with  a  harmless  box  of 
rifles  and  a  lot  of  innocent  cheese ;  but  the  news  was 
too  late  to  save  me;  imagination  had  done  its  work, 
and  my  health  was  permanently  shattered ;  neither 
Bermuda  nor  any  other  land  can  ever  bring  it  back 
to  me.  This  is  my  last  trip;  I  am  on  my  way  home 
to  die. 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY 

THERE  was  a  good  deal  of  pleasant  gossip  about 
old  Captain  "  Hurricane  "  Jones,  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean, —  peace  to  his  ashes !  Two  or  three  of  us 
present  had  known  him;  I,  particularly  well,  for  I 
had  made  four  sea-voyages  with  him.  He  was  a 
very  remarkable  man.  He  was  born  on  a  ship ; 
he  picked  up  what  little  education  he  had  among 
his  shipmates;  he  began  life  in  the  forecastle,  and 
climbed  grade  by  grade  to  the  captaincy.  More 
than  fifty  years  of  his  sixty-five  were  spent  at  sea. 
He  had  sailed  all  oceans,  seen  all  lands,  and  bor 
rowed  a  tint  from  all  climates.  When  a  man  has 
been  fifty  years  at  sea,  he  necessarily  knows  noth 
ing  of  men,  nothing  of  the  world  but  its  surface, 
nothing  of  the  world's  thought,  nothing  of  the 
world's  learning  but  its  ABC,  and  that  blurred 
and  distorted  by  the  unfocused  lenses  of  an  un 
trained  mind.  Such  a  man  is  only  a  gray  and 
bearded  child.  That  is  what  old  Hurricane  Jones 
was, —  simply  an  innocent,  lovable  old  infant.  When 
his  spirit  was  in  repose  he  was  as  sweet  and  gentle 
as  a  girl;  when  his  wrath  was  up  he  was  a  hurricane 


324  The   $30,000   Bequest 

that  made  his  nickname  seem  tamely  descriptive. 
He  was  formidable  in  a  fight,  for  he  was  of  powerful 
build  and  dauntless  courage.  He  was  frescoed  from 
head  to  heel  with  pictures  and  mottoes  tattooed  in 
red  and  blue  India  ink.  I  was  with  him  one  voyage 
when  he  got  his  last  vacant  space  tattooed;  this 
vacant  space  was  around  his  left  ankle.  During 
three  days  he  stumped  about  the  ship  with  his  ankle 
bare  and  swollen,  and  this  legend  gleaming  red  and 
angry  out  from  a  clouding  of  India  ink:  "  Virtue  is 
its  own  R'd."  (There  was  a  lack  of  room.)  He 
was  deeply  and  sincerely  pious,  and  swore  like  a 
fish-woman.  He  considered  swearing  blameless, 
because  sailors  would  not  understand  an  order  un- 
illumined  by  it.  He  was  a  profound  Biblical  scholar, 
—  that  is,  he  thought  he  was.  He  believed  every 
thing  in  the  Bible,  but  he  had  his  own  methods  of 
arriving  at  his  beliefs.  He  was  of  the  *'  advanced  " 
school  of  thinkers,  and  applied  natural  laws  to  the 
interpretation  of  all  miracles,  somewhat  on  the  plan 
of  the  people  who  make  the  six  days  of  creation  six 
geological  epochs,  and  so  forth.  Without  being 
aware  of  it,  he  was  a  rather  severe  satire  on  modern 
scientific  religionists.  Such  a  man  as  I  have  been 
describing  is  rabidly  fond  of  disquisition  and  argu 
ment  ;  one  knows  that  without  being  told  it. 

One  trip  the  captain  had  a  clergyman  on  board, 
but  did  not  know  he  was  a  clergyman,  since  the 
passenger  list  did  not  betray  the  fact.  He  took 
a  great  liking  to  this  Rev.  Mr.  Peters,  and  talked 


The  Captain's  Story  325 

with  him  a  great  deal:  told  him  yarns,  gave  him 
toothsome  scraps  of  personal  history,  and  wove  a 
glittering  streak  of  profanity  through  his  garru 
lous  fabric  that  was  refreshing  to  a  spirit  weary 
of  the  dull  neutralities  of  undecorated  speech.  One 
day  the  captain  said,  "  Peters,  do  you  ever  read 
the  Bible?" 

-Well  — yes.'1 

!<  I  judge  it  ain't  often,  by  the  way  you  say  it. 
Now,  you  tackle  it  in  dead  earnest  once,  and  you'll 
find  it'll  pay.  Don't  you  get  discouraged,  but  hang 
right  on.  First,  you  won't  understand  it;  but  by 
and  by  things  will  begin  to  clear  up,  and  then  you 
wouldn't  lay  it  down  to  eat." 

11  Yes,  I  have  heard  that  said." 

44  And  it's  so,  too.  There  ain't  a  book  that  begins 
with  it.  It  lays  over  'em  all,  Peters.  There's  some 
pretty  tough  things  in  it, —  there  ain't  any  getting 
around  that, —  but  you  stick  to  them  and  think  them 
out,  and  when  once  you  get  on  the  inside  every 
thing's  plain  as  day." 

*  The  miracles,  too,  captain?" 
1  Yes,  sir!  the  miracles,  too.     Everyone  of  them. 
Now,   there's    that   business   with    the    prophets    of 
Baal;    like  enough  that  stumped  you?" 

44  Well,  I  don't  know  but—" 

44  Own  up,  now;  it  stumped  you.  Well,  I  don't 
wonder.  You  hadn't  had  any  experience  in  raveling 
such  things  out,  and  naturally  it  was  too  many  for 
you.  Would  you  like  to  have  me  explain  that  thing 


The  $30,000   Bequest 

to  you,  and  show  you  how  to   get  at  the  meat  of 
these  matters?" 

"  Indeed,  I  would,  captain,  if  you  don't  mind." 
Then  the  captain  proceeded  as  follows:  '*  I'll  do 
it  with  pleasure.  First,  you  see,  I  read  and  read, 
and  thought  and  thought,  till  I  got  to  understand 
what  sort  of  people  they  were  in  the  old  Bible  times, 
and  then  after  that  it  was  clear  and  easy.  Now,  this 
was  the  way  I  put  it  up,  concerning  Isaac*  and  the 
prophets  of  Baal.  There  was  some  mighty  sharp 
men  amongst  the  public  characters  of  that  old 
ancient  day,  and  Isaac  was  one  of  them.  Isaac  had 
his  failings, —  plenty  of  them,  too ;  it  ain't  for  me  to 
apologize  for  Isaac ;  he  played  on  the  prophets  of 
Baal,  and  like  enough  he  was  justifiable,  considering 
the  odds  that  was  against  him.  No,  all  I  say  is, 
't  wa'n't  any  miracle,  and  that  I'll  show  you  so's't 
you  can  see  it  yourself. 

1  Well,  times  had  been  getting  rougher  and 
rougher  for  prophets, —  that  is,  prophets  of  Isaac's 
denomination.  There  were  four  hundred  and  fifty 
prophets  of  Baal  in  the  community,  and  only  one 
Presbyterian ;  that  is,  if  Isaac  was  a  Presbyterian, 
which  I  reckon  he  was,  but  it  don't  say.  Naturally, 
the  prophets  of  Baal  took  all  the  trade.  Isaac  was 
pretty  low-spirited,  I  reckon,  but  he  was  a  good  deal 
of  a  man,  and  no  doubt  he  went  a-prophesying 
around,  letting  on  to  be  doing  a  land- office  busi- 


*This  is  the  captain's  own  mistake. 


The  Captain's   Story  327 

ness,  but  'twa'n't  any  use;  he  couldn't  run  any 
opposition  to  amount  to  anything.  By  and  by 
things  got  desperate  with  him;  he  sets  his  head 
to  work  and  thinks  it  all  out,  and  then  what  does 
he  do?  Why,  he  begins  to  throw  out  hints  that 
the  other  parties  are  this  and  that  and  t'other, — 
nothing  very  definite,  may  be,  but  just  kind  of 
undermining  their  reputation  in  a  quiet  way.  This 
made  talk,  of  course,  and  finally  got  to  the  king. 
The  king  asked  Isaac  what  he  meant  by  his  talk. 
Says  Isaac,  *  Oh,  nothing  particular;  only,  can 
they  pray  down  fire  from  heaven  on  an  altar?  It 
ain't  much,  maybe,  your  majesty,  only  can  they 
do  it?  That's  the  idea/  So  the  king  was  a  good 
deal  disturbed,  and  he  went  to  the  prophets  of 
Baal,  and  they  said,  pretty  airy,  that  if  he  had 
an  altar  ready,  they  were  ready;  and  they  inti 
mated  he  better  get  it  insurefi,  too. 

"  So  next  morning  all  the  children  of  Israel  and 
their  parents  and  the  other  people  gathered  them 
selves  together.  Well,  here  was  that  great  crowd  of 
prophets  of  Baal  packed  together  on  one  side,  and 
Isaac  walking  up  and  down  all  alone  on  the  other, 
putting  up  his  job.  When  time  was  called,  Isaac  let 
on  to  be  comfortable  and  indifferent;  told  the  other 
team  to  take  the  first  innings.  So  they  went  at  it, 
the  whole  four  hundred  and  fifty,  praying  around  the 
altar,  very  hopeful,  and  doing  their  level  best.  They 
prayed  an  hour, —  two  hours, —  three  hours, —  and 
so  on,  plumb  till  noon.  It  wa'n't  any  use;  they 


32^  The  $30,000   Bequest 

hadn't  took  a  trick.  Of  course  they  felt  kind 
of  ashamed  before  all  those  people,  and  well  they 
might.  Now,  what  would  a  magnanimous  man 
do?  Keep  still,  wouldn't  he?  Of  course.  What 
did  Isaac  do?  He  graveled  the  prophets  of  Baal 
every  way  he  could  think  of.  Says  he,  '  You 
don't  speak  up  loud  enough;  your  god's  asleep, 
like  enough,  or  maybe  he's  taking  a  walk;  you 
want  to  holler,  you  know,'  —  or  words  to  that  ef 
fect;  I  don't  recollect  the  exact  language.  Mind, 
I  don't  apologize  for  Isaac;  he  had  his  faults. 

*  Well,  the  prophets  of  Baal  prayed  along  the  best 
they  knew  how  all  the  afternoon,  and  never  raised  a 
spark.  At  last,  about  sundown,  they  were  all 
tuckered  out,  and  they  owned  up  and  quit. 

"  What  does  Isaac  do,  now?  He  steps  up  and 
says  to  some  friends  of  his,  there,  *  Pour  four  barrels 
of  water  on  the  altar  !  '  Everybody  was  astonished ; 
for  the  other  side  had  prayed  at  it  dry,  you  know, 
and  got  whitewashed.  They  poured  it  on.  Says  he, 
'  Heave  on  four  more  barrels.'  Then  he  says, 
'  Heave  on  four  more.'  Twelve  barrels,  you  see, 
altogether.  The  water  ran  all  over  the  altar,  and  all 
down  the  sides,  and  filled  up  a  trench  around  it  that 
would  hold  a  couple  of  hogsheads, —  '  measures,'  it 
says;  I  reckon  it  means  about  a  hogshead.  Some 
of  the  people  were  going  to  put  on  their  things  and 
go,  for  they  allowed  he  was  crazy.  They  didn't 
know  Isaac.  Isaac  knelt  down  and  began  to  pray : 
he  strung  along,  and  strung  along,  about  the  heathen 


The   Captain's   Story  ^29 

in  distant  lands,  and  about  the  sister  churches,  and 
about  the  state  and  the  country  at  large,  and  about 
those  that's  in  authority  in  the  government,  and  all 
the  usual  programme,  you  know,  till  everybody  had 
got  tired  and  gone  to  thinking  about  something 
else,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  when  nobody  was 
noticing,  he  outs  with  a  match  and  rakes  it  on 
the  under  side  of  his  leg,  and  pff !  up  the  whole 
thing  blazes  like  a  house  afire !  Twelve  barrels  of 
water?  Petroleum,  sir,  PETROLEUM!  that's  what 
it  was!  " 

"Petroleum,  captain?" 

"Yes,  sir;  the  country  was  full  of  it.  Isaac 
knew  all  about  that.  You  read  the  Bible.  Don't 
you  worry  about  the  tough  places.  They  ain't  tough 
when  you  come  to  think  them  out  and  throw  light 
on  them.  There  ain't  a  thing  in  the  Bible  but  what 
is  true  ;  all  you  want  is  to  go  prayerfully  to  work  and 
cipher  out  how  't  was  done," 


MARK  TWAIN 

A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

BY  SAMUEL  E.  MOFFETT 

IN  1835  tne  creation  of  the  Western  empire  of 
America  had  just  begun.  In  the  whole  region 
west  of  the  Mississippi,  which  now  contains  21,- 
000,000  people  —  nearly  twice  the  entire  popula 
tion  of  the  United  States  at  that  time  —  there  were 
less  than  half  a  million  white  inhabitants.  There 
were  only  two  states  beyond  the  great  river,  Loui 
siana  and  Missouri.  There  were  only  two  con 
siderable  groups  of  population,  one  about  New 
Orleans,  the  other  about  St.  Louis.  If  we  omit 
New  Orleans,  which  is  east  of  the  river,  there  was 
only  one  place  in  all  that  vast  domain  with  any 
pretension  to  be  called  a  city.  That  was  St. 
Louis,  and  that  metropolis,  the  wonder  and  pride 
of  all  the  Western  country,  had  no  more  than 
10,000  inhabitants. 

It  was  in  this  frontier  region,  on  the  extreme  fringe 
of  settlement  ' '  that  just  divides  the  desert  from  the 
sown,"  that  Samuel  Langhorne  Clemens  was  born, 
November  30,  1835,  in  the  hamlet  of  Florida,  Mis 
souri.  His  parents  had  come  there  to  be  in  the 


A    Biographical   Sketch 

thick  of  the  Western  boom,  and  by  a  fate  for 
which  no  lack  of  foresight  on  their  part  was  to 
blame,  they  found  themselves  in  a  place  which 
succeeded  in  accumulating  125  inhabitants  in  the 
next  sixty  years.  When  we  read  of  the  west 
ward  sweep  of  population  and  wealth  in  the  United 
States,  it  seems  as  if  those  who  were  in  the  van 
of  that  movement  must  have  been  inevitably  car 
ried  on  to  fortune.  But  that  was  a  tide  full  of 
eddies  and  back  currents,  and  Mark  Twain's  parents 
possessed  a  faculty  for  finding  them  that  appears 
nothing  less  than  miraculous.  The  whole  Western 
empire  was  before  them  where  to  choose.  They 
could  have  bought  the  entire  site  of  Chicago  for  a 
pair  of  boots.  They  could  have  taken  up  a  farm 
within  the  present  city  limits  of  St.  Louis.  What 
they  actually  did  was  to  live  for  a  time  in  Columbia, 
Kentucky,  with  a  small  property  in  land,  and  six 
inherited  slaves,  then  to  move  to  Jamestown,  on  the 
Cumberland  plateau  of  Tennessee,  a  place  that  was 
then  no  farther  removed  from  the  currents  of  the 
world's  life  than  Uganda,  but  which  no  resident  of 
that  or  any  other  part  of  Central  Africa  would  now 
regard  as  a  serious  competitor,  and  next  to  migrate 
to  Missouri,  passing  St.  Louis  and  settling  first  in 
Florida,  and  afterward  in  Hannibal.  But  when  the 
whole  map  was  blank  the  promise  of  fortune  glowed 
as  rosily  in  these  regions  as  anywhere  else.  Florida 
had  great  expectations  when  Jackson  was  President. 
When  John  Marshall  Clemens  took  up  80,000  acres 


332  The   $30,000    Bequest 

of  land  in  Tennessee,  he  thought  he  had  established 
his  children  as  territorial  magnates.  That  phantom 
vision  of  wealth  furnished  later  one  of  the  motives 
of  "The  Gilded  Age."  It  conferred  no  other 
benefit. 

If  Samuel  Clemens  missed  a  fortune  he  inherited 
good  blood.  On  both  sides  his  family  had  been 
settled  in  the  South  since  early  colonial  times.  His 
father,  John  Marshall  Clemens,  of  Virginia,  was  a 
descendant  of  Gregory  Clemens,  who  became  one  of 
the  judges  that  condemned  Charles  I.  to  death,  was 
excepted  from  the  amnesty  after  the  Restoration  in 
consequence,  and  lost  his  head.  A  cousin  of  John 
M.  Clemens,  Jeremiah  Clemens,  represented  Alabama 
in  the  United  States  Senate  from  1849  to  1853. 

Through  his  mother,  Jane  Lampton  (Lambton), 
the  boy  was  descended  from  the  Lambtons  of  Dur 
ham,  whose  modern  English  representatives  still 
possess  the  lands  held  by  their  ancestors  of  the  same 
name  since  the  twelfth  century.  Some  of  her  for 
bears  on  the  maternal  side,  the  Montgomerys,  went 
with  Daniel  Boone  to  Kentucky,  and  were  in  the  thick 
of  the  romantic  and  tragic  events  that  accompanied 
the  settlement  of  the  '*  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground," 
and  she  herself  was  born  there  twenty-nine  years  after 
the  first  log  cabin  was  built  within  the  limits  of  the 
present  commonwealth.  She  was  one  of  the  earliest, 
prettiest,  and  brightest  of  the  many  belles  that  have 
given  Kentucky  such  an  enviable  reputation  as  a 
nursery  of  fair  women,  and  her  vivacity  and  wit  left 


A   Biographical   Sketch  333 

no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  her  friends  concerning  the 
source  of  her  son's  genius. 

John  Marshall  Clemens,  who  had  been  trained  for 
the  bar  in  Virginia,  served  for  some  years  as  a  mag 
istrate  at  Hannibal,  holding  for  a  time  the  position 
of  county  judge.  With  his  death,  in  March,  1847, 
Mark  Twain's  formal  education  came  to  an  end,  and 
his  education  in  real  life  began.  He  had  always  been 
a  delicate  boy,  and  his  father,  in  consequence,  had 
been  lenient  in  the  matter  of  enforcing  attendance  at 
school,  although  he  had  been  profoundly  anxious 
that  his  children  should  be  well  educated.  His  wish 
was  fulfilled,  although  not  in  the  way  he  had  expected. 
It  is  a  fortunate  thing  for  literature  that  Mark  Twain 
was  never  ground  into  smooth  uniformity  under  the 
scholastic  emery  wheel.  He  has  made  the  world  his 
university,  and  in  men,  and  books,  and  strange  places, 
and  all  the  phases  of  an  infinitely  varied  life,  has 
built  an  education  broad  and  deep,  on  the  foundations 
of  an  undisturbed  individuality. 

His  high  school  was  a  village  printing-office,  where 
his  elder  brother  Orion  was  conducting  a  newspaper. 
The  thirteen-year-old  boy  served  in  all  capacities, 
and  in  the  occasional  absences  of  his  chief  he  reveled 
in  personal  journalism,  with  original  illustrations 
hacked  on  wooden  blocks  with  a  jackknife,  to  an 
extent  that  riveted  the  town's  attention,  "  but  not  its 
admiration,"  as  his  brother  plaintively  confessed. 
The  editor  spoke  with  feeling,  for  he  had  to  take  the 
consequences  of  these  exploits  on  his  return. 


334  The   $30,000    Bequest 

From  his  earliest  childhood  young  Clemens  had 
been  of  an  adventurous  disposition.  Before  he  was 
thirteen,  he  had  been  extracted  three  times  from  the 
Mississippi,  and  six  times  from  Bear  Creek,  in  a  sub 
stantially  drowned  condition,  but  his  mother,  with 
the  high  confidence  in  his  future  that  never  deserted 
her,  merely  remarked :  ' '  People  who  are  born  to  be 
hanged  are  safe  in  the  water."  By  1853  the  Han 
nibal  tether  had  become  too  short  for  him.  He 
disappeared  from  home  and  wandered  from  one 
Eastern  printing-office  to  another.  He  saw  the 
World's  Fair  at  New  York,  and  other  marvels, 
and  supported  himself  by  setting  type.  At  the 
end  of  this  Wanderjahr  financial  stress  drove  him 
back  to  his  family.  He  lived  at  St.  Louis,  Mus- 
catine,  and  Keokuk  until  1857,  when  he  induced 
the  great  Horace  Bixby  to  teach  him  the  mystery 
of  steamboat  piloting.  The  charm  of  all  this 
warm,  indolent  existence  in  the  sleepy  river  towns 
has  colored  his  whole  subsequent  life.  In  "Tom 
Sawyer,"  "Huckleberry  Finn,"  "Life  on  the 
Mississippi,"  and  "  Pudd'nhead  Wilson,"  every 
phase  of  that  vanished  estate  is  lovingly  dwelt  upon. 

Native  character  will  always  make  itself  felt,  but 
one  may  wonder  whether  Mark  Twain's  humor  would 
have  developed  in  quite  so  sympathetic  and  buoyant 
a  vein  if  he  had  been  brought  up  in  Ecclefechan 
instead  of  in  Hannibal,  and  whether  Carlyle  might 
not  have  been  a  little  more  human  if  he  had  spent  his 
boyhood  in  Hannibal  instead  of  in  Ecclefechan. 


A    Biographical   Sketch  335 

A  Mississippi  pilot  in  the  later  fifties  was  a 
personage  of  imposing  grandeur.  He  was  a  miracle 
of  attainments ;  he  was  the  absolute  master  of  his 
boat  while  it  was  under  way,  and  just  before  his 
fall  he  commanded  a  salary  precisely  equal  to  that 
earned  at  that  time  by  the  Vice-President  of  the 
United  States  or  a  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court. 
The  best  proof  of  the  superlative  majesty  and  desira 
bility  of  his  position  is  the  fact  that  Samuel  Clemens 
deliberately  subjected  himself  to  the  incredible  labor 
necessary  to  attain  it  —  a  labor  compared  with  which 
the  efforts  needed  to  acquire  the  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Philosophy  at  a  University  are  as  light  as  a  sum 
mer  course  of  modern  novels.  To  appreciate  the 
full  meaning  of  a  pilot's  marvelous  education,  one 
must  read  the  whole  of  "Life  on  the  Mississippi," 
but  this  extract  may  give  a  partial  idea  of  a 
single  feature  of  that  training  —  the  cultivation  of 
the  memory: 

11  First  of  all,  there  is  one  faculty  which  a  pilot 
must  incessantly  cultivate  until  he  has  brought  it  to 
absolute  perfection.  Nothing  short  of  perfection 
will  do.  That  faculty  is  memory.  He  cannot  stop 
with  merely  thinking  a  thing  is  so  and  so ;  he  must 
know  it ;  for  this  is  eminently  one  of  the  exact  sci 
ences.  With  what  scorn  a  pilot  was  looked  upon,  in 
the  old  times,  if  he  ever  ventured  to  deal  in  that 
feeble  phrase  4  I  think,'  instead  of  the  vigorous  one 
'I  know!'  One  cannot  easily  realize  what  a  tre 
mendous  thing  it  is  to  know  every  trivial  detail  of 


336  The    $30,000   Bequest 

twelve  hundred  miles  of  river,  and  know  it  with 
absolute  exactness.  If  you  will  take  the  longest 
street  in  New  York,  and  travel  up  and  down  it, 
conning  its  features  patiently  until  you  know  every 
house,  and  window,  and  door,  and  lamp-post,  and 
big  and  little  sign  by  heart,  and  know  them  so 
accurately  that  you  can  instantly  name  the  one 
you  are  abreast  of  when  you  are  set  down  at 
random  in  that  street  in  the  middle  of  an  inky 
black  night,  you  will  then  have  a  tolerable  notion 
of  the  amount  and  the  exactness  of  a  pilot's  knowl 
edge  who  carries  the  Mississippi  River  in  his  head. 
And  then,  if  you  will  go  on  until  you  know  every 
street  crossing,  the  character,  size,  and  position  of 
the  crossing-stones,  and  the  varying  depth  of  mud 
in  each  of  those  numberless  places,  you  will  have 
some  idea  of  what  the  pilot  must  know  in  order  to 
keep  a  Mississippi  steamer  out  of  trouble.  Next,  if 
you  will  take  half  of  the  signs  in  that  long  street  and 
change  their  places  once  a  month,  and  still  manage  to 
know  their  new  positions  accurately  on  dark  nights, 
and  keep  up  with  these  repeated  changes  without 
making  any  mistakes,  you  will  understand  what  is 
required  of  a  pilot's  peerless  memory  by  the  fickle 
Mississippi. 

"  I  think  a  pilot's  memory  is  about  the  most 
wonderful  thing  in  the  world.  To  know  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments  by  heart,  and  be  able  to  recite 
them  glibly,  forward  or  backward,  or  begin  at  random 
anywhere  in  the  book  and  recite  both  ways,  and 


A    Biographical   Sketch  337 

never  trip  or  make  a  mistake,  is  no  extravagant  mass 
of  knowledge,  and  no  marvelous  facility,  compared 
to  a  pilot's  massed  knowledge  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
his  marvelous  facility  in  handling  it.  .  . 

"  And  how  easily  and  comfortably  the  pilot's  mem 
ory  does  its  work;  how  placidly  effortless  is  its  way; 
how  unconsciously  it  lays  up  its  vast  stores,  hour  by 
hour,  day  by  day,  and  never  loses  or  mislays  a  single 
valuable  package  of  them  all !  Take  an  instance. 
Let  a  leadsman  say :  '  Half  twain  !  half  twain  !  half 
twain!  half  twain!  half  twain!'  until  it  becomes  as 
monotonous  as  the  ticking  of  a  clock;  let  con 
versation  be  going  on  all  the  time,  and  the  pilot  be 
doing  his  share  of  the  talking,  and  no  longer  con 
sciously  listening  to  the  leadsman ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  this  endless  string  of  half  twains  let  a  single 
*  quarter  twain!'  be  interjected,  without  emphasis, 
and  then  the  half  twain  cry  go  on  again,  just  as 
before:  two  or  three  weeks  later  that  pilot  can 
describe  with  precision  the  boat's  position  in  the  river 
when  that  quarter  twain  was  uttered,  and  give  you 
such  a  lot  of  head  marks,  stern  marks,  and  side  marks 
to  guide  you  that  you  ought  to  be  able  to  take  the 
boat  there  and  put  her  in  that  same  spot  again  your 
self  !  The  cry  of  *  Quarter  twain  '  did  not  really 
take  his  mind  from  his  talk,  but  his  trained  faculties 
instantly  photographed  the  bearings,  noted  the  change 
of  depth,  and  laid  up  the  important  details  for  future 
reference  without  requiring  any  assistance  from  him 
in  the  matter." 


The   $30,000    Bequest 

Young  Clemens  went  through  all  that  appalling 
training,  stored  away  in  his  head  the  bewildering  mass 
of  knowledge  a  pilot's  duties  required,  received  the 
license  that  was  the  diploma  of  the  river  university, 
entered  into  regular  employment,  and  regarded  him 
self  as  established  for  life,  when  the  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  War  wiped  out  his  occupation  at  a  stroke,  and 
made  his  weary  apprenticeship  a  useless  labor.  The 
commercial  navigation  of  the  lower  Mississippi  was 
stopped  by  a  line  of  fire,  and  black,  squat  gunboats, 
their  sloping  sides  plated  with  railroad  iron,  took  the 
place  of  the  gorgeous  white  side-wheelers,  whose 
pilots  had  been  the  envied  aristocrats  of  the  river 
towns.  Clemens  was  in  New  Orleans  when  Louisiana 
seceded,  and  started  North  the  next  day.  The  boat 
ran  a  blockade  every  day  of  her  trip,  and  on  the  last 
night  of  the  voyage  the  batteries  at  the  Jefferson 
barracks,  just  below  St.  Louis,  fired  two  shots  through 
her  chimneys. 

Brought  up  in  a  slaveholding  atmosphere,  Mark 
Twain  naturally  sympathized  at  first  with  the  South. 
In  June  he  joined  the  Confederates  in  Rails  County, 
Missouri,  as  a  Second  Lieutenant  under  General  Tom 
Harris,  His  military  career  lasted  for  two  weeks. 
Narrowly  missing  the  distinction  of  being  captured 
by  Colonel  Ulysses  S.  Grant,  he  resigned,  explaining 
that  he  had  become  "  incapacitated  by  fatigue  " 
through  persistent  retreating.  In  his  subsequent 
writings  he  has  always  treated  his  brief  experience  of 
warfare  as  a  burlesque  episode,  although  the  official 


A   Biographical   Sketch  339 

reports  and  correspondence  of  the  Confederate  com 
manders  speak  very  respectfully  of  the  work  of  the 
raw  countrymen  of  the  Harris  Brigade.  The  elder 
Clemens  brother,  Orion,  was  persona  grata  to  the 
Administration  of  President  Lincoln,  and  received  in 
consequence  an  appointment  as  the  first  Secretary  of 
the  new  Territory  of  Nevada.  He  offered  his  speedily 
reconstructed  junior  the  position  of  private  secretary 
to  himself,  "  with  nothing  to  do  and  no  salary." 
The  two  crossed  the  plains  in  the  overland  coach  in 
eighteen  days  —  almost  precisely  the  time  it  will  take 
to  go  from  New  York  to  Vladivostok  when  the 
Trans-Siberian  Railway  is  finished. 

A  year  of  variegated  fortune  hunting  among  the 
silver  mines  of  the  Humboldt  and  Esmeralda  regions 
followed.  Occasional  letters  written  during  this  time 
to  the  leading  newspaper  of  the  Territory,  the  Virginia 
City  Territorial  Enterprise,  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  proprietor,  Mr.  J.  T.  Goodman,  a  man  of 
keen  and  unerring  literary  instinct,  and  he  offered 
the  writer  the  position  of  local  editor  on  his  staff. 
With  the  duties  of  this  place  were  combined  those 
of  legislative  correspondent  at  Carson  City,  the 
capital.  The  work  of  young  Clemens  created  a  sen 
sation  among  the  lawmakers.  He  wrote  a  weekly 
letter,  spined  with  barbed  personalities.  It  ap 
peared  every  Sunday,  and  on  Mondays  the  legis 
lative  business  was  obstructed  with  the  complaints  of 
members  who  rose  to  questions  of  privilege,  and  ex 
pressed  their  opinion  of  the  correspondent  with 


340  The   $30,000   Bequest 

acerbity.  This  encouraged  him  to  give  his  letters 
more  individuality  by  signing  them.  For  this  pur 
pose  he  adopted  the  old  Mississippi  leadsman's  call 
for  two  fathoms  (twelve  feet) — "Mark  Twain." 

At  that  particular  period  dueling  was  a  passing 
fashion  on  the  Comstock.  The  refinements  of 
Parisian  civilization  had  not  penetrated  there,  and  a 
Washoe  duel  seldom  left  more  than  one  survivor. 
The  weapons  were  always  Colt's  navy  revolvers — • 
distance,  fifteen  paces;  fire  and  advance;  six  shots 
allowed.  Mark  Twain  became  involved  in  a  quarrel 
with  Mr.  Laird,  the  editor  of  the  Virginia  Union  t  and 
the  situation  seemed  to  call  for  a  duel.  Neither 
combatant  was  an  expert  with  the  pistol,  but  Mark 
Twain  was  fortunate  enough  to  have  a  second  who 
was.  The  men  were  practicing  in  adjacent  gorges, 
Mr.  Laird  doing  fairly  well,  and  his  opponent  hitting 
everything  but  the  mark.  A  small  bird  lit  on  a  sage 
bush  thirty  yards  away,  and  Mark  Twain's  second 
fired  and  knocked  off  its  head.  At  that  moment  the 
enemy  came  over  the  ridge,  saw  the  dead  bird, 
observed  the  distance,  and  learned  from  Gillis,  the 
humorist's  second,  that  the  feat  had  been  performed 
by  Mark  Twain,  for  whom  such  an  exploit  was 
nothing  remarkable.  They  withdrew  for  consulta 
tion;  and  then  offered  a  formal  apology,  after  which 
peace  was  restored,  leaving  Mark  Twain  with  the 
honors  of  war. 

However,  this  incident  was  the  means  of  effecting 
another  change  in  his  life.  There  was  a  new  law 


A   Biographical   Sketch  341 

which  prescribed  two  years'  imprisonment  for  any 
one  who  should  send,  carry,  or  accept  a  challenge. 
The  fame  of  the  proposed  duel  had  reached  the 
capital,  eighteen  miles  away,  and  the  governor 
wrathfully  gave  orders  for  the  arrest  of  all  concerned, 
announcing  his  intention  of  making  an  example  that 
would  be  remembered.  A  friend  of  the  duelists 
heard  of  their  danger,  outrode  the  officers  of  the 
law,  and  hurried  the  parties  over  the  border  into 
California. 

Mark  Twain  found  a  berth  as  city  editor  of  the  San 
Francisco  Morning  Call,  but  he  was  not  adapted  to 
routine  newspaper  work,  and  in  a  couple  of  years  he 
made  another  bid  for  fortune  in  the  mines.  He  tried 
the  "  pocket  mines  "  of  California,  this  time,  at 
Jackass  Gulch,  in  Calaveras  County,  but  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  no  pockets.  Thus  he  escaped  the 
hypnotic  fascination  that  has  kept  some  intermittently 
successful  pocket  miners  willing  prisoners  in  Sierra 
cabins  for  life,  and  in  three  months  he  was  back  in 
San  Francisco,  penniless,  but  in  the  line  of  literary 
promotion.  He  wrote  letters  for  the  Virginia  Enter 
prise  for  a  time,  but  tiring  of  that,  welcomed  an 
assignment  to  visit  Hawaii  for  the  Sacramento  Union, 
and  write  about  the  sugar  interests.  It  was  in 
Honolulu  that  he  accomplished  one  of  his  greatest 
feats  of  '  *  straight  newspaper  work. ' '  The  clipper 
Hornet  had  been  burned  on  "the  line,"  and  when 
the  skeleton  survivors  arrived,  after  a  passage  of 
forty-three  days  in  an  open  boat  on  ten  days'  pro- 


342  The   $30,000    Bequest 

visions,  Mark  Twain  gathered  their  stones,  worked 
all  day  and  all  night,  and  threw  a  complete  account 
of  the  horror  aboard  a  schooner  that  had  already 
cast  off.  It  was  the  only  full  account  that  reached 
California,  and  it  was  not  only  a  clean  "  scoop  "  of 
unusual  magnitude,  but  an  admirable  piece  of  literary 
art.  The  Union  testified  its  appreciation  by  paying 
the  correspondent  ten  times  the  current  rates  for  it. 
After  six  months  in  the  Islands,  Mark  Twain  re 
turned  to  California,  and  made  his  first  venture  upon 
the  lecture  platform.  He  was  warmly  received,  and 
delivered  several  lectures  with  profit.  In  1867  he 
went  East  by  way  of  the  Isthmus,  and  joined  the 
Quaker  City  excursion  to  Europe  and  the  Holy  Land, 
as  correspondent  of  the  Alta  California,  of  San 
Francisco.  During  this  tour  of  five  or  six  months 
the  party  visited  the  principal  ports  of  the  Mediter 
ranean  and  the  Black  Sea.  From  this  trip  grew 
'The  Innocents  Abroad,"  the  creator  of  Mark 
Twain's  reputation  as  a  literary  force  of  the  first 
order.  '  The  Celebrated  Jumping  Frog  of  Calaveras 
County  "had  preceded  it,  but  "The  Innocents" 
gave  the  author  his  first  introduction  to  international 
literature.  A  hundred  thousand  copies  were  sold 
the  first  year,  and  as  many  more  later. 

Four  years  of  lecturing  followed  —  distasteful,  but 
profitable.  Mark  Twain  always  shrank  from  the 
public  exhibition  of  himself  on  the  platform,  but  he 
was  a  popular  favorite  there  from  the  first.  He  was 
one  of  a  little  group,  including  Henry  Ward  Beecher 


A    Biographical   Sketch  343 

and  two  or  three  others,  for  whom  every  lyceum  com 
mittee  in  the  country  was  bidding,  and  whose  capture 
at  any  price  insured  the  success  of  a  lecture  course. 

The  Quaker  City  excursion  had  a  more  important 
result  than  the  production  of  ' '  The  Innocents 
Abroad."  Through  her  brother,  who  was  one  of 
the  party,  Mr.  Clemens  became  acquainted  with 
Miss  Olivia  L.  Langdon,  the  daughter  of  Jervis 
Langdon,  of  Elmira,  New  York,  and  this  acquaint 
ance  led,  in  February,  1870,  to  one  of  the  most  ideal 
marriages  in  literary  history. 

Four  children  came  of  this  union.  The  eldest, 
Langdon,  a  son,  was  born  in  November,  1870,  and 
died  in  1872.  The  second,  Susan  Olivia,  a  daughter, 
was  born  in  the  latter  year,  and  lived  only  twenty- 
four  years,  but  long  enough  to  develop  extraordinary 
mental  gifts  and  every  grace  of  character.  Two 
other  daughters,  Clara  Langdon  and  Jean,  were  born 
in  1874  and  1880,  respectively,  and  still  live  (1899). 

Mark  Twain's  first  home  as  a  man  of  family  was 
in  Buffalo,  in  a  house  given  to  the  bride  by  her  father 
as  a  wedding  present.  He  bought  a  third  interest 
in  a  daily  newspaper,  the  Buffalo  Express,  and 
joined  its  staff.  But  his  time  for  jogging  in  harness 
was  past.  It  was  his  last  attempt  at  regular  news 
paper  work,  and  a  year  of  it  was  enough.  He  had 
become  assured  of  a  market  for  anything  he  might 
produce,  and  he  could  choose  his  own  place  and 
time  for  writing. 

There  was  a  tempting  literary  colony  at  Hartford  ; 


344  The   $30,000   Bequest 

the  place  was  steeped  in  an  atmosphere  of  antique 
peace  and  beauty,  and  the  Clemens  family  were 
captivated  by  its  charm.  They  moved  there  in 
October,  1871,  and  soon  built  a  house  which  was 
one  of  the  earliest  fruits  of  the  artistic  revolt  against 
the  mid-century  Philistinism  of  domestic  architecture 
in  America.  For  years  it  was  an  object  of  wonder 
to  the  simple-minded  tourist.  The  facts  that  its 
rooms  were  arranged  for  the  convenience  of  those 
who  were  to  occupy  them,  and  that  its  windows, 
gables,  and  porches  were  distributed  with  an  eye  to 
the  beauty,  comfort,  and  picturesqueness  of  that- 
particular  house,  instead  of  following  the  traditional 
lines  laid  down  by  the  carpenters  and  contractors 
who  designed  most  of  the  dwellings  of*  the  period, 
distracted  the  critics,  and  gave  rise  to  grave  dis 
cussions  in  the  newspapers  throughout  the  country 
of  "  Mark  Twain's  practical  joke." 

The  years  that  followed  brought  a  steady  literary 
development.  '  Roughing  It,"  which  was  written 
in  1872,  and  scored  a  success  hardly  second  to  that 
of  *  The  Innocents,"  was,  like  that,  simply  a 
humorous  narrative  of  personal  experiences,  varie 
gated  by  brilliant  splashes  of  description;  but  with 
'  The  Gilded  Age,"  which  was  produced  in  the  same 
year,  in  collaboration  with  Mr.  Charles  Dudley 
Warner,  the  humorist  began  to  evolve  into  the 
philosopher.  '  Tom  Sawyer,"  appearing  in  1876, 
was  a  veritable  manual  of  boy  nature,  and  its  sequel, 
' '  Huckleberry  Finn , "  which  was  published  nine  years 


A    Biographical   Sketch 

later,  was  not  only  an  advanced  treatise  in  the  same 
science,  but  a  most  moving  study  of  the  workings 
of  the  untutored  human  soul,  in  boy  and  man. 
"  The  Prince  and  the  Pauper,"  1882,  "  A  Connecti 
cut  Yankee  at  King  Arthur's  Court  "  (1890),  and 
11  Pudd'nhead  Wilson"  (first  published  serially  in 
1893-94),  were  all  alive  with  a  comprehensive  and 
passionate  sympathy  to  which  their  humor  was  quite 
subordinate,  although  Mark  Twain  never  wrote,  and 
probably  never  will  write,  a  book  that  could  be  read 
without  laughter.  His  humor  is  as  irrepressible  as 
Lincoln's,  and  like  that,  it  bubbles  out  on  the  most 
solemn  occasions;  but  still,  again  like  Lincoln's,  it 
has  a  way  of  seeming,  in  spite  of  the  surface  in 
congruity,  to  belong  there.  But  it  was  in  the 
4  Personal  Recollections  of  Joan  of  Arc,"  whose 
anonymous  serial  publication  in  1894-95  betrayed 
some  critics  of  reputation  into  the  absurdity  of 
attributing  it  to  other  authors,  notwithstanding  the 
characteristic  evidences  of  its  paternity  that  obtruded 
themselves  on  every  page,  that  Mark  Twain  became 
most  distinctly  a  prophet  of  humanity.  Here,  at 
last,  was  a  book  with  nothing  ephemeral  about  it  — 
one  that  will  reach  the  elemental  human  heart  as  well 
among  the  flying  machines  of  the  next  century,  as  it 
does  among  the  automobiles  of  to-day,  or  as  it  would 
have  done  among  the  stage  coaches  of  a  hundred 
years  ago. 

And   side  by  side  with  this  spiritual  growth  had 
come   a  growth  in  knowledge  and  in  culture.     The 


346  The   $30,000    Bequest 

Mark  Twain  of  "  The  Innocents,"  keen-eyed,  quick 
of  understanding,  and  full  of  fresh,  eager  interest  in 
all  Europe  had  to  show,  but  frankly  avowing  that  he 
11  did  not  know  what  in  the  mischief  the  Renaissance 
was,"  had  developed  into  an  accomplished  scholar 
and  a  man  of  the  world  for  whom  the  globe  had  few 
surprises  left.  The  Mark  Twain  of  1895  might  con 
ceivably  have  written  "  The  Innocents  Abroad," 
although  it  would  have  required  an  effort  to  put  him 
self  in  the  necessary  frame  of  mind,  but  the  Mark 
Twain  of  1869  could  no  more  have  written  "  Joan 
of  Arc  "  than  he  could  have  deciphered  the  Maya 
hieroglyphics. 

In  1873  the  family  spent  some  months  in  England 
and  Scotland,  and  Mr.  Clemens  lectured  for  a  few 
weeks  in  London.  Another  European  journey 
followed  in  1878. 

"A  Tramp  Abroad"  was  the  result  of  this 
tour,  which  lasted  eighteen  months.  *  The  Prince 
and  the  Pauper,"  "Life  on  the  Mississippi,"  and 
"Huckleberry  Finn"  appeared  in  quick  succes 
sion  in  1882,  1883,  and  1885.  Considerably  more 
amusing  than  anything  the  humorist  ever  wrote  was 
the  fact  that  the  trustees  of  some  village  libraries  in 
New  England  solemnly  voted  that  *'  Huckleberry 
Finn,"  whose  power  of  moral  uplift  has  hardly  been 
surpassed  by  any  book  of  our  time,  was  too  demoral 
izing  to  be  allowed  on  their  shelves. 

All  this  time  fortune  had  been  steadily  favorablej 
and  Mark  Twain  had  been  spoken  of  by  the  press, 


A   Biographical   Sketch  347 

sometimes  with  admiration,  as  an  example  of  the 
financial  success  possible  in  literature,  and  sometimes 
with  uncharitable  envy,  as  a  haughty  millionaire, 
forgetful  of  his  humble  friends.  But  now  began  the 
series  of  unfortunate  investments  that  swept  away 
the  accumulations  of  half  a  lifetime  of  hard  work, 
and  left  him  loaded  with  debts  incurred  by  other 
men.  In  1885  he  financed  the  publishing  house  of 
Charles  L>  Webster  &  Company  in  New  York.  The 
firm  began  business  with  the  prestige  of  a  brilliant 
coup.  It  secured  the  publication  of  the  Memoirs 
of  General  Grant,  which  achieved  a  sale  of  more 
than  600,000  volumes.  The  first  check  received 
by  the  Grant  heirs  was  for  $200,000,  and  this  was 
followed  a  few  months  later  by  one  for  $150,000. 
These  are  the  largest  checks  ever  paid  for  an  author's 
work  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Meanwhile, 
Mr.  Clemens  was  spending  great  sums  on  a  type 
setting  machine  of  such  seductive  ingenuity  as  to 
captivate  the  imagination  of  everybody  who  saw  it. 
It  worked  to  perfection,  but  it  was  too  complicated 
and  expensive  for  commercial  use,  and  after  sinking 
a  fortune  in  it  between  1886  and  1889,  Mark  Twain 
had  to  write  off  the  whole  investment  as  a  dead  loss. 
On  top  of  this  the  publishing  house,  which  had 
been  supposed  to  be  doing  a  profitable  business, 
turned  out  to  have  been  incapably  conducted,  and 
all  the  money  that  came  into  its  hands  was  lost. 
Mark  Twain  contributed  $65,000  in  efforts  to  save 
its  life,  but  to  no  purpose,  and  when  it  finally  failed, 


The   $30,000   Bequest 

he  found  that  it  had  not  only  absorbed  everything 
he  had  put  in,  but  had  incurred  liabilities  of  $96,000, 
of  which  less  than  one-third  was  covered  by  assets. 

He  could  easily  have  avoided  any  legal  liability  for 
the  debts,  but  as  the  credit  of  the  company  had  been 
based  largely  upon  his  name,  he  felt  bound  in  honor 
to  pay  them.  In  1895-96  he  took  his  wife  and 
second  daughter  on  a  lecturing  tour  around  the 
world,  wrote  "  Following  the  Equator,"  and  cleared 
off  the  obligations  of  the  house  in  full. 

The  years  1897,  1898,  and  1899  were  spent  in 
England,  Switzerland,  and  Austria.  Vienna  took 
the  family  to  its  heart,  and  Mark  Twain  achieved 
such  a  popularity  among  all  classes  there  as  is  rarely 
won  by  a  foreigner  anywhere.  He  saw  the  manu 
facture  of  a  good  deal  of  history  in  that  time.  It 
was  his  fortune,  for  instance,  to  be  present  in  the 
Austrian  Reichsrath  on  the  memorable  occasion  when 
it  was  invaded  by  sixty  policemen,  and  sixteen 
refractory  members  were  dragged  roughly  out  of 
the  hall.  That  momentous  event  in  the  progress 
of  parliamentary  government  profoundly  impressed 
him. 

Mark  Twain,  although  so  characteristically  Amer 
ican  in  every  fiber,  does  not  appeal  to  Americans 
alone,  nor  even  to  the  English-speaking  race.  His 
work  has  stood  the  test  of  translation  into  French, 
German,  Russian,  Italian,  Swedish,  Norwegian,  and 
Magyar.  That  is  pretty  good  evidence  that  it 
possesses  the  universal  quality  that  marks  the  master. 


A   Biographical  Sketch  349 

Another  evidence  of  its  fidelity  to  human  nature  is 
the  readiness  with  which  it  lends  itself  to  dramatiza 
tion.  "  The  Gilded  Age,"  "  Tom  Sawyer,"  "  The 
Prince  and  the  Pauper,"  and  "Pudd'nhead  Wilson  " 
have  all  been  successful  on  the  stage. 

In  the  thirty-eight  years  of  his  literary  activity 
Mark  Twain  has  seen  generation  after  generation  of 
"  American  humorists"  rise,  expand  into  sudden 
popularity,  and  disappear,  leaving  hardly  a  memory 
behind.  If  he  has  not  written  himself  out  like  them, 
if  his  place  in  literature  has  become  every  year  more 
assured,  it  is  because  his  "  humor  "  has  been  some 
thing  radically  different  from  theirs.  It  has  been 
irresistibly  laughter-provoking,  but  its  sole  end  has 
never  been  to  make  people  laugh.  Its  more  im 
portant  purpose  has  been  to  make  them  think  and 
feel.  And  with  the  progress  of  the  years  Mark 
Twain's  own  thoughts  have  become  finer,  his  own 
feelings  deeper  and  more  responsive.  Sympathy 
with  the  suffering,  hatred  of  injustice  and  oppression, 
and  enthusiasm  for  all  that  tends  to  make  the  world 
a  more  tolerable  place  for  mankind  to  live  in,  have 
grown  with  his  accumulating  knowledge  of  life  as  it 
is.  That  is  why  Mark  Twain  has  become  a  classic, 
not  only  at  home,  but  in  all  lands  whose  people  read 
and  think  about  the  common  joys  and  sorrows  of 
humanity. 


IN  MEMORIAL 

OLIVIA    SUSAN    CLEMENS 
DIED  AUGUST  18, 1896 ;  AGED  24 

IN  a  fair  valley —  oh,  how  long  ago,  how  long  ago  ! 
Where  all  the  broad  expanse  was  clothed  in  vines 
And  fruitful  fields  and  meadows  starred  with  flowers, 
And  clear  streams  wandered  at  their   idle  will, 
And  still  lakes  slept,  their  burnished  surfaces 
A  dream  of  painted  clouds,  and  soft  airs 
Went  whispering  with  odorous  breath, 
And  all  was  peace  —  in  that  fair  vale, 
Shut  from  the  troubled   world,  a   nameless  hamlet 
drowsed. 

Hard  by,  apart,  a  temple  stood ; 

And  strangers  from  the  outer  world 

Passing,  noted  it  with  tired  eyes, 

And  seeing,  saw  it  not : 

A  glimpse  of  its  fair  form  —  an  answering  momen 
tary  thrill  — 

And  they  passed  on,  careless  and  unaware. 

They  could  not  know  the  cunning  of  its  make ; 
They  could  not  know  the  secret  shut  up  in  its  heart ; 
Only  the  dwellers  of  the  hamlet  knew : 


In   Memoriam  351 

They  knew  that  what  seemed  brass  was  gold ; 

What  marble  seemed,  was  ivory; 

The  glories  that  enriched  the  milky  surfaces  - 

The  trailing  vines,  and  interwoven  flowers, 

And  tropic  birds  awing,  clothed  all  in  tinted  fire  — 

They  knew    for    what    they   were,    not    what    they 

seemed : 
Encrustings  all  of  gems,  not  perishable  splendors  of 

the  brush. 

They  knew  the  secret  spot  where  one  must  stand  — 
They  knew  the  surest    hour,  the  proper    slant    of 

sun  — 

To  gather  in,  unmarred,  undimmed, 
The  vision  of  the  fane  in  all  its  fairy  grace, 
A  fainting  dream  against  the  opal  sky. 

And  more  than  this.     They  knew 
That  in  the  temple's  inmost  place  a  spirit  dwelt, 
Made  all  of  light ! 

For  glimpses  of  it  they  had  caught 
Beyond  the  curtains  when  the  priests 
That  served  the  altar  came  and  went. 

All  loved  that  light  and  held  it  dear 
That  had  this  partial  grace ; 
But  the  adoring  priests  alone  who  lived 
By  day  and  night  submerged  in  its  immortal  glow 
Knew  all  its  power  and  depth,  and  could  appraise 

the  loss 
If  it  should  fade  and  fail  and  come  no  more. 

All  this  was  long  ago  —  so  long  ago  ! 


352  The   $30,000   Bequest 

The  light  burned  on;   and  they  that  worshiped  it, 
And  they  that  caught  its  flash  at  intervals  and  held 

it  dear, 

Contented  lived  in  its  secure  possession.     Ah, 
How  long  ago  it  was  ! 

And  then  when  they 
Were  nothing  fearing,  and  God's  peace  was  in  the 

air, 

And  none  was  prophesying  harm  — 
The  vast  disaster  fell : 

Where  stood  the  temple  when  the  sun  went  down, 
Was  vacant  desert  when  it  rose  again ! 

Ah,  yes  !   'Tis  ages  since  it  chanced  ! 

So  long  ago  it  was, 
That  from  the  memory  of  the  hamlet-folk  the  Light 

has  passed  — 

They  scarce  believing,  now,  that  once  it  was, 
Or,  if  believing,  yet  not  missing  it, 
And  reconciled  to  have  it  gone. 

Not  so  the  priests !     Oh,  not  so 
The  stricken  ones  that  served  it  day  and  night, 
Adoring  it,  abiding  in  the  healing  of  its  peace : 
They  stand,  yet,  where  erst  they  stood 
Speechless  in  that  dim  morning  long  ago ; 
And  still  they  gaze,  as  then  they  gazed, 
And  murmur,  "  It  will  come  again; 
It  knows  our  pain  —  it  knows  —  it  knows  — 
Ah,  surely  it  will  come  again." 

S.  L.  C. 
LAKE  LUCERNE,  August  18,  1897. 


THE  BELATED   RUSSIAN  PASSPORT 

"  One  fly  makes  a  summer." — Pudd'nhead  Wilson's  Calendar. 

I 

A  GREAT  beer -saloon  in  the  Friedrichstrasse, 
Berlin,  towards  mid  -  afternoon.  At  a  hundred 
round  tables  gentlemen  sat  smoking  and  drinking; 
flitting  here  and  there  and  everywhere  were  white- 
aproned  waiters  bearing  foaming  mugs  to  the  thirsty. 
At  a  table  near  the  main  entrance  were  grouped  half 
a  dozen  lively  young  fellows — American  students — 
drinking  good-bye  to  a  visiting  Yale  youth  on  his 
travels,  who  had  been  spending  a  few  days  in  the 
German  capital. 

"But  why  do  you  cut  your  tour  short  in  the 
middle,  Parrish?"  asked  one  of  the  students.  "I 
wish  I  had  your  chance.  What  do  you  want  to  go 
home  for?" 

"Yes,"  said  another,  "what  is  the  idea?  You 
want  to  explain,  you  know,  because  it  looks  like  in 
sanity.  Homesick  ? ' ' 

A  girlish  blush  rose  in  Parrish's  fresh  young  face, 


354  The  $30,000   Bequest 

and  after  a  little  hesitation  he  confessed  that  that 
was  his  trouble. 

"I  was  never  away  from  home  before,"  he  said, 
"and  every  day  I  get  more  and  more  lonesome.  I 
have  not  seen  a  friend  for  weeks,  and  it's  been  hor 
rible.  I  meant  to  stick  the  trip  through,  for  pride's 
sake,  but  seeing  you  boys  has  finished  me.  It's 
been  heaven  to  me,  and  I  can't  take  up  that  com- 
panionless  dreariness  again.  If  I  had  company — 
but  I  haven't,  you  know,  so  it's  no  use.  They  used 
to  call  me  Miss  Nancy  when  I  was  a  small  chap,  and 
I  reckon  I'm  that  yet — girlish  and  timorous,  and 
all  that.  I  ought  to  have  been  a  girl!  I  can't  stand 
it;  I'm  going  home." 

The  boys  rallied  him  good-naturedly,  and  said  he 
was  making  the  mistake  of  his  life;  and  one  of  them 
added  that  he  ought  at  least  to  see  St.  Petersburg 
before  turning  back. 

"Don't!"  said  Parrish,  appealingly.  "It  was 
my  dearest  dream,  and  I'm  throwing  it  away. 
Don't  say  a  word  more  on  that  head,  for  I'm  made 
of  water,  and  can't  stand  out  against  anybody's 
persuasion.  I  can't  go  alone;  I  think  I  should  die." 
He  slapped  his  breast-pocket,  and  added:  "Here  is 
my  protection  against  a  change  of  mind;  I've  bought 
ticket  and  sleeper  for  Paris,  and  I  leave  to-night. 
Drink,  now — this  is  on  me — bumpers — this  is  for 
home!" 

The  good-byes  were  said,  and  Alfred  Parrish  was 
left  to  his  thoughts  and  his  loneliness.  But  for  a 


The   Belated   Russian    Passport  355 

moment  only.  A  sturdy,  middle-aged  man  with  a 
brisk  and  business-like  bearing,  and  an  air  of  decision 
and  confidence  suggestive  of  military  training,  came 
bustling  from  the  next  table,  and  seated  himself  at 
Parrish's  side,  and  began  to  speak,  with  concen 
trated  interest  and  earnestness.  His  eyes,  his  face, 
his  person,  his  whole  system,  seemed  to  exude  en 
ergy.  He  was  full  of  steam — racing  pressure — one 
could  almost  hear  his  gauge-cocks  sing.  He  ex 
tended  a  frank  hand,  shook  Parrish  cordially,  and 
said,  with  a  most  convincing  air  of  strenuous  con 
viction: 

"Ah,  but  you  mustn't;  really  you  mustn't;  it 
would  be  the  greatest  mistake;  you  would  always 
regret  it.  Be  persuaded,  I  beg  you;  don't  do  it — 
don't!" 

There  was  such  a  friendly  note  in  it,  and  such  a 
seeming  of  genuineness,  that  it  brought  a  sort  of  up 
lift  to  the  youth's  despondent  spirits,  and  a  telltale 
moisture  betrayed  itself  in  his  eyes,  an  unintentional 
confession  that  he  was  touched  and  grateful.  The 
alert  stranger  noted  that  sign,  was  quite  content 
with  that  response,  and  followed  up  his  advantage 
without  waiting  for  a  spoken  one: 

"No,  don't  do  it;  it  would  be  a  mistake.  I  have 
heard  everything  that  was  said — you  will  pardon 
that — I  was  so  close  by  that  I  couldn't  help  it. 
And  it  troubled  me  to  think  that  you  would  cut 
your  travels  short  when  you  really  want  to  see  St. 
Petersburg,  and  are  right  here  almost  in  sight  of  it! 


The  $30,000   Bequest 

Reconsider  it — ah,  you  must  reconsider  it.  It  is 
such  a  short  distance — it  is  very  soon  done  and  very 
soon  over — and  think  what  a  memory  it  will  be!" 

Then  he  went  on  and  made  a  picture  of  the  Rus 
sian  capital  and  its  wonders,  which  made  Alfred 
Parrish's  mouth  water  and  his  roused  spirits  cry  out 
with  longing.  Then — 

"Of  course  you  must  see  St.  Petersburg — you  must! 
Why,  it  will  be  a  joy  to  you — a  joy!  1  know,  because 
I  know  the  place  as  familiarly  as  I  know  my  own 
birthplace  in  America.  Ten  years — I've  known  it 
ten  years.  Ask  anybody  there;  they'll  tell  you;  they 
all  know  me — Major  Jackson  The  very  dogs  know 
me.  Do  go;  oh,  you  must  go;  you  must,  indeed." 

Alfred  Parrish  was  quivering  with  eagerness  now. 
He  would  go.  His  face  said  it  as  plainly  as  his 
tongue  could  have  done  it.  Then — the  old  shadow 
fell,  and  he  said,  sorrowfully: 

"Oh  no — no,  it's  no  use;  I  can't.  I  should  die  of 
the  loneliness." 

The  Major  said,  with  astonishment:  "The — loneli 
ness!  Why,  I'm  going  with  you!" 

It  was  startlingly  unexpected.  And  not  quite 
pleasant.  Things  were  moving  too  rapidly.  Was 
this  a  trap  ?  Was  this  stranger  a  sharper  ?  Whence 
all  this  gratuitous  interest  in  a  wandering  and  un 
known  lad?  Then  he  glanced  at  the  Major's  frank 
and  winning  and  beaming  face,  and  was  ashamed; 
and  wished  he  knew  how  to  get  out  of  this  scrape 
without  hurting  the  feelings  of  its  contriver.  But  he 


The   Belated   Russian    Passport  357 

was  not  handy  in  matters  of  diplomacy,  and  went  at 
the  difficulty  with  conscious  awkwardness  and  small 
confidence.  He  said,  with  a  quite  overdone  show  of 
unselfishness: 

"Oh  no,  no,  you  are  too  kind;  I  couldn't — I 
couldn't  allow  you  to  put  yourself  to  such  an  incon 
venience  on  my — 

"Inconvenience?  None  in  the  world,  my  boy;  I 
was  going  to-night,  anyway;  I  leave  in  the  express 
at  nine.  Come!  we'll  go  together.  You  sha'n't 
be  lonely  a  single  minute.  Come  along  —  say  the 
word!" 

So  that  excuse  had  failed.  What  to  do  now? 
Parrish  was  disheartened;  it  seemed  to  him  that  no 
subterfuge  which  his  poor  invention  could  contrive 
would  ever  rescue  him  from  these  toils.  Still,  he 
must  make  another  effort,  and  he  did;  and  before  he 
had  finished  his  new  excuse  he  thought  he  recog 
nized  that  it  was  unanswerable: 

"Ah,  but  most  unfortunately  luck  is  against  me, 
and  it  is  impossible.  Look  at  these" — and  he  took 
out  his  tickets  and  laid  them  on  the  table.  "I  am 
booked  through  to  Paris,  and  I  couldn't  get  these 
tickets  and  baggage  coupons  changed  for  St.  Peters 
burg,  of  course,  and  would  have  to  lose  the  money; 
and  if  I  could  afford  to  lose  the  money  I  should  be 
rather  short  after  I  bought  the  new  tickets — for 
there  is  all  the  cash  I've  got  about  me" — and  he  laid 
a  five-hundred-mark  bank-note  on  the  table. 

In  a  moment  the  Major  had  the  tickets  and  cou- 


358  The  $30,000   Bequest 

pons  and  was  on  his  feet,  and  saying,  with   enthu 
siasm: 

"Good!  It's  all  right,  and  everything  safe. 
They'll  change  the  tickets  and  baggage  pasters  for 
me;  they  all  know  me — everybody  knows  me.  Sit 
right  where  you  are;  I'll  be  back  right  away."  Then 
he  reached  for  the  bank-note,  and  added,  "I'll  take 
this  along,  for  there  will  be  a  little  extra  pay  on  the 
new  tickets,  maybe" — and  the  next  moment  he  was 
flying  out  at  the  door. 


II 


ALFRED  PARRISH  was  paralyzed.  It  was  all  so 
sudden.  So  sudden,  so  daring,  so  incredible,  so  im 
possible.  His  mouth  was  open,  but  his  tongue 
wouldn't  work;  he  tried  to  shout  "Stop  him,"  but 
his  lungs  were  empty;  he  wanted  to  pursue,  but  his 
legs  refused  to  do  anything  but  tremble;  then  they 
gave  way  under  him  and  let  him  down  into  his  chair. 
His  throat  was  dry,  he  was  gasping  and  swallowing 
with  dismay,  his  head  was  in  a  whirl.  What  must 
he  do?  He  did  not  know.  One  thing  seemed  plain, 
however — he  must  pull  himself  together,  and  try  to 
overtake  that  man.  Of  course  the  man  could  not 
get  back  the  ticket-money,  but  would  he  throw  the 
tickets  away  on  that  account?  No;  he  would  cer 
tainly  go  to  the  station  and  sell  them  to  some  one  at 
half-price ;  and  to-day,  too,  for  they  would  be  worth 
less  to-morrow,  by  German  custom.  These  reflec 
tions  gave  him  hope  and  strength,  and  he  rose  and 
started.  But  he  took  only  a  couple  of  steps,  then 
he  felt  a  sudden  sickness,  and  tottered  back  to  his 
chair  again,  weak  with  a  dread  that  his  movement 
had  been  noticed — for  the  last  round  of  beer  was  at 
his  expense;  it  had  not  been  paid  for,  and  he  hadn't 
a  pfennig.  He  was  a  prisoner — Heaven  only  could 


360  The   $30,000   Bequest 

know  what  might  happen  if  he  tried  to  leave  the 
place.  He  was  timid,  scared,  crushed;  and  he  had 
not  German  enough  to  state  his  case  and  beg  for  help 
and  indulgence. 

Then  his  thoughts  began  to  persecute  him.  How 
could  he  have  been  such  a  fool?  What  possessed 
him  to  listen  to  such  a  manifest  adventurer?  And 
here  comes  the  waiter!  He  buried  himself  in  the 
newspaper  —  trembling.  The  waiter  passed  by.  It 
filled  him  with  thankfulness.  The  hands  of  the 
clock  seemed  to  stand  still,  yet  he  could  not  keep 
his  eyes  from  them. 

Ten  minutes  dragged  by.  The  waiter  again! 
Again  he  hid  behind  the  paper.  The  waiter  paused 
— apparently  a  week — then  passed  on. 

Another  ten  minutes  of  misery — once  more  the 
waiter;  this  time  he  wiped  off  the  table,  and  seemed 
to  be  a  month  at  it;  then  paused  two  months,  and 
went  away. 

Parrish  felt  that  he  could  not  endure  another  visit; 
he  must  take  the  chances:  he  must  run  the  gantlet; 
he  must  escape.  But  the  waiter  stayed  around 
about  the  neighborhood  for  five  minutes  —  months 
and  months  seemingly,  Parrish  watching  him  with  a 
despairing  eye,  and  feeling  the  infirmities  of  age 
creeping  upon  him  and  his  hair  gradually  turning 
gray. 

At  last  the  waiter  wandered  away — stopped  at  a 
table,  collected  a  bill,  wandered  farther,  collected 
another  bill,  wandered  farther  —  Parrish 's  praying 


The   Belated   Russian   Passport  361 

eye  riveted  on  him  all  the  time,  his  heart  thumping, 
his  breath  coming  and  going  in  quick  little  gasps  of 
anxiety  mixed  with  hope. 

The  waiter  stopped  again  to  collect,  and  Parrish 
said  to  himself,  it  is  now  or  never!  and  started  for 
the  door.  One  step  —  two  steps  —  three  —  four  —  he 
was  nearing  the  door — five — his  legs  shaking  under 
him — was  that  a  swift  step  behind  him  ? — the  thought 
shrivelled  his  heart  —  six  steps — seven,  and  he  was 
out !  —  eight  —  nine  —  ten  —  eleven  —  twelve  —  there 
is  a  pursuing  step ! — he  turned  the  corner,  and  picked 
up  his  heels  to  fly  —  a  heavy  hand  fell  on  his  shoul 
der,  and  the  strength  went  out  of  his  body! 

It  was  the  Major.  He  asked  not  a  question,  he 
showed  no  surprise.  He  said,  in  his  breezy  and  ex 
hilarating  fashion: 

"Confound  those  people,  they  delayed  me;  that's 
why  I  was  gone  so  long.  New  man  in  the  ticket- 
office,  and  he  didn't  know  me,  and  wouldn't  make 
the  exchange  because  it  was  irregular;  so  I  had  to 
hunt  up  my  old  friend,  the  great  mogul — the  station- 
master,  you  know — hi,  there,  cab!  cab! — jump  in, 
Parrish! — Russian  consulate,  cabby,  and  let  them 
fly! — so,  as  I  say,  that  all  cost  time.  But  it's  all 
right  now,  and  everything  straight;  your  luggage  re- 
weighed,  rechecked,  fare-ticket  and  sleeper  changed, 
and  I've  got  the  documents  for  it  in  my  pocket;  also 
the  change  —  I'll  keep  it  for  you.  Whoop  along, 
cabby,  whoop  along;  don't  let  them  go  to  sleep!" 

Poor  Parrish  was  trying  his  best  to  get  in  a  word 


362  The  $30,000   Bequest 

edgeways,  as  the  cab  flew  farther  and  farther  from 
the  bilked  beer-hall,  and  now  at  last  he  succeeded, 
and  wanted  to  return  at  once  and  pay  his  little  bill. 

"Oh,  never  mind  about  that,"  said  the  Major, 
placidly;  "that's  all  right,  they  know  me,  everybody 
knows  me — I'll  square  it  next  time  I'm  in  Berlin — 
push  along,  cabby,  push  along — no  great  lot  of  time 
to  spare,  now." 

They  arrived  at  the  Russian  consulate,  a  moment 
after  hours,  and  hurried  in.  No  one  there  but  a 
clerk.  The  Major  laid  his  card  on  the  desk,  and 
said,  in  the  Russian  tongue,  "Now,  then,  if  you'll 
vise*  this  young  man's  passport  for  Petersburg  as 
quickly  as — •" 

"But,  dear  sir,  I'm  not  authorized,  and  the  consul 
has  just  gone." 

"Gone  where?" 

"Out  in  the  country,  where  he  lives." 

"And  he'll  be  back—" 

"Not  till  morning." 

"Thunder!  Oh,  well,  look  here,  I'm  Major  Jack 
son — he  knows  me,  everybody  knows  me.  You  vise 
it  yourself;  tell  him  Major  Jackson  asked  you;  it  '11 
be  all  right." 

But  it  would  be  desperately  and  fatally  irregular; 
the  clerk  could  not  be  persuaded;  he  almost  fainted 
^a-t  the  idea. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,"  said  the 
Major.  "Here's  stamps  and  the  fee — vise  it  in  the 
morning,  and  start  it  along  by  mail." 


The  Belated   Russian   Passport  363 

The  clerk  said,  dubiously,  "He — well,  he  may  per 
haps  do  it,  and  so — 

"May?  He  will!  He  knows  me  —  everybody 
knows  me." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  clerk,  "I  will  tell  him  what 
you  say."  He  looked  bewildered,  and  in  a  measure 
subjugated;  and  added,  timidly:  "But — but — you 
know  you  will  beat  it  to  the  frontier  twenty-four 
hours.  There  are  no  accommodations  there  for  so 
long  a  wait." 

"Who's  going  to  wait  f  Not  I,  if  the  court  knows 
herself." 

The  clerk  was  temporarily  paralyzed,  and  said, 
"Surely,  sir,  you  don't  wish  it  sent  to  Petersburg!" 

"And  why  not?" 

"And  the  owner  of  it  tarrying  at  the  frontier, 
twenty-five  miles  away?  It  couldn't  do  him  any 
good,  in  those  circumstances." 

"Tarry — the  mischief!  Who  said  he  was  going  to 
do  any  tarrying?" 

"Why,  you  know,  of  course,  they'll  stop  him  at 
the  frontier  if  he  has  no  passport." 

"Indeed  they  won't!  The  Chief  Inspector  knows 
me — everybody  does.  I'll  be  responsible  for  the 
young  man.  You  send  it  straight  through  to  Peters 
burg — Hotel  de  1'Europe,  care  Major  Jackson:  tell 
the  consul  not  to  worry,  I'm  taking  all  the  risks  my 
self." 

The  clerk  hesitated,  then  chanced  one  more  appeal: 

"You  must  bear  in  mind,  sir,  that  the  risks  are 


364  The   $30,000   Bequest 

peculiarly  serious,  just  now.  The  new  edict  is  in 
force." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Ten  years  in  Siberia  for  being  in  Russia  without 
a  passport." 

"Mm — damnation!"  He  said  it  in  English,  for 
the  Russian  tongue  is  but  a  poor  stand-by  in  spiritual 
emergencies.  He  mused  a  moment,  then  brisked 
up  and  resumed  in  Russian:  "Oh,  it's  all  right — 
label  her  St.  Petersburg  and  let  her  sail!  I'll  fix  it. 
They  all  know  me  there — all  the  authorities — every 
body." 


Ill 

THE  Major  turned  out  to  be  an  adorable  travelling 
companion,  and  young  Parrish  was  charmed  with 
him.  His  talk  was  sunshine  and  rainbows,  and  lit 
up  the  whole  region  around,  and  kept  it  gay  and 
happy  and  cheerful;  and  he  was  full  of  accommodat 
ing  ways,  and  knew  all  about  how  to  do  things,  and 
when  to  do  them,  and  the  best  way.  So  the  long 
journey  was  a  fairy  dream  for  that  young  lad  who 
had  been  so  lonely  and  forlorn  and  friendless  so 
many  homesick  weeks.  At  last,  when  the  two 
travellers  were  approaching  the  frontier,  Parrish  said 
something  about  passports;  then  started,  as  if  recol 
lecting  something,  and  added: 

"Why,  come  to  think,  I  don't  remember  your 
bringing  my  passport  away  from  the  consulate. 
But  you  did,  didn't  you?" 

"No;  it's  coming  by  mail,"  said  the  Major,  com 
fortably. 

"K — coming — by — mail!"  gasped  the  lad;  and  all 
the  dreadful  things  he  had  heard  about  the  terrors 
and  disasters  of  passportless  visitors  to  Russia  rose 
in  his  frightened  mind  and  turned  him  white  to  the 
lips.  "Oh,  Major — oh,  my  goodness,  what  will  be 
come  of  me!  How  could  you  do  such  a  thing?" 


366  The  $30,000   Bequest 

The  Major  laid  a  soothing  hand  upon  the  youth's 
shoulder  and  said: 

"Now  don't  you  worry,  my  boy,  don't  you  worry 
a  bit.  I'm  taking  care  of  you,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
let  any  harm  come  to  you.  The  Chief  Inspector 
knows  me,  and  I'll  explain  to  him,  and  it  '11  be  all 
right — you'll  see.  Now  don't  you  give  yourself  the 
least  discomfort— I'll  fix  it  all  up,  easy  as  nothing." 

Alfred  trembled,  and  felt  a  great  sinking  inside, 
but  he  did  what  he  could  to  conceal  his  misery,  and 
to  respond  with  some  show  of  heart  to  the  Major's 
kindly  pettings  and  reassurings. 

At  the  frontier  he  got  out  and  stood  on  the  edge 
of  the  great  crowd,  and  waited  in  deep  anxiety 
while  the  Major  ploughed  his  way  through  the  mass 
to  "explain  to  the  Chief  Inspector."  It  seemed  a 
cruelly  long  wait,  but  at  last  the  Major  reappeared. 
He  said,  cheerfully,  *  Damnation,  it's  a  new  in 
spector,  and  I  don't  know  him!" 

Alfred  fell  up  against  a  pile  of  trunks,  with  a  de 
spairing,  "Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  might  have  known  it!" 
and  was  slumping  limp  and  helpless  to  the  ground, 
but  the  Major  gathered  him  up  and  seated  him  on  a 
box,  and  sat  down  by  him,  with  a  supporting  arm 
around  him,  and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"Don't  worry,  laddie,  don't — it's  going  to  be  all 
right;  you  just  trust  to  me.  The  sub-inspector's  as 
near-sighted  as  a  shad.  I  watched  him,  and  I 
know  it's  so.  Now  I'll  tell  you  how  to  do.  I'll  go 
and  get  my  passport  chalked,  then  I'll  stop  right 


The   Belated   Russian  Passport  367 

yonder  inside  the  grille  where  you  see  those  peasants 
with  their  packs.  You  be  there,  and  I'll  back  up 
against  the  grille,  and  slip  my  passport  to  you 
through  the  bars,  then  you  tag  along  after  the 
crowd  and  hand  it  in,  and  trust  to  Providence  and 
that  shad.  Mainly  the  shad.  You'll  pull  through 
all  right — now  don't  you  be  afraid." 

"But,  oh  dear,  dear,  your  description  and  mine 
don't  tally  any  more  than — -" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right — difference  between  fifty-one 
and  nineteen — just  entirely  imperceptible  to  that 
shad — don't  you  fret,  it's  going  to  come  out  as  right 
as  nails." 

Ten  minutes  later  Alfred  was  tottering  towards  the 
train,  pale,  and  in  a  collapse,  but  he  had  played  the 
shad  successfully,  and  was  as  grateful  as  an  untaxed 
dog  that  has  evaded  the  police. 

"I  told  you  so,"  said  the  Major,  in  splendid  spirits. 
"  I  knew  it  would  come  out  all  right  if  you  trusted  in 
Providence  like  a  little,  trusting  child  and  didn't  try 
to  improve  on  His  ideas — it  always  does." 

Between  the  frontier  and  Petersburg  the  Major  laid 
himself  out  to  restore  his  young  comrade's  life,  and 
work  up  his  circulation,  and  pull  him  out  of  his  de 
spondency,  and  make  him  feel  again  that  life  was  a 
joy  and  worth  living.  And  so,  as  a  consequence, 
the  young  fellow  entered  the  city  in  high  feather  and 
marched  into  the  hotel  in  fine  form,  and  registered 
his  name.  But  instead  of  naming  a  room,  the 
clerk  glanced  at  him  inquiringly,  and  waited.  The 


368  The   $30,000   Bequest 

Major  came  promptly  to  the  rescue,  and  said,  cord 
ially: 

"It's  all  right — you  know  me — set  him  down,  I'm 
responsible."  The  clerk  looked  grave,  and  shook 
his  head.  The  Major  added:  "It's  all  right,  it  '11  be 
here  in  twenty-four  hours  —  it's  coming  by  mail. 
Here's  mine,  and  his  is  coming  right  along." 

The  clerk  was  full  of  politeness,  full  of  deference, 
but  he  was  firm.  He  said,  in  English: 

"Indeed,  I  wish  I  could  accommodate  you,  Major, 
and  certainly  I  would  if  I  could;  but  I  have  no 
choice,  I  must  ask  him  to  go;  I  cannot  allow  him  to 
remain  in  the  house  a  moment." 

Parrish  began  to  totter,  and  emitted  a  moan;  the 
Major  caught  him  and  stayed  him  with  an  arm,  and 
said  to  the  clerk,  appealingly: 

' '  Come,  you  know  me — everybody  does — just  let  him 
stay  here  the  one  night,  and  I  give  you  my  word — " 

The  clerk  shook  his  head,  and  said: 

"But,  Major,  you  are  endangering  me,  you  are  en 
dangering  the  house.  I — I  hate  to  do  such  a  thing, 
but  I — I  must  call  the  police." 

"Hold  on,  don't  do  that.  Come  along,  my  boy, 
and  don't  you  fret — it's  going  to  come  out  all  right. 
Hi,  there,  cabby!  Jump  in,  Parrish.  Palace  of  the 
General  of  the  Secret  Police  —  turn  them  loose, 
cabby!  Let  them  go!  Make  them  whiz!  Now 
we're  off,  and  don't  you  give  yourself  any  uneasiness. 
Prince  Bossloffsky  knows  me,  knows  me  like  a  book; 
he'll  soon  fix  things  all  right  for  us." 


The   Belated   Russian    Passport  369 

They  tore  through  the  gay  streets  and  arrived  at 
the  palace,  which  was  brilliantly  lighted.  But  it 
was  half-past  eight;  the  Prince  was  about  going  in  to 
dinner,  the  sentinel  said,  and  couldn't  receive  any 
one. 

"But  he'll  receive  me,"  said  the  Major,  robustly, 
and  handed  his  card.  "I'm  Major  Jackson.  Send 
it  in;  it  '11  be  all  right." 

The  card  was  sent  in,  under  protest,  and  the  Major 
and  his  waif  waited  in  a  reception-room  for  some 
time.  At  length  they  were  sent  for,  and  conducted 
to  a  sumptuous  private  office  and  confronted  with 
the  Prince,  who  stood  there  gorgeously  arrayed  and 
frowning  like  a  thunder-cloud.  The  Major  stated  his 
case,  and  begged  for  a  twenty-four-hour  stay  of  pro 
ceedings  until  the  passport  should  be  forthcoming. 

"Oh,  impossible!"  said  the  Prince,  in  faultless 
English.  "I  marvel  that  you  should  have  done  so 
insane  a  thing  as  to  bring  the  lad  into  the  country 
without  a  passport,  Major,  I  marvel  at  it;  why,  it's 
ten  years  in  Siberia,  and  no  help  for  it — catch  him! 
support  him!"  for  poor  Parrish  was  making  another 
trip  to  the  floor.  "Here  —  quick,  give  him  this. 
There — take  another  draught;  brandy's  the  thing, 
don't  you  find  it  so,  lad?  Now  you  feel  better,  poor 
fellow.  Lie  down  on  the  sofa.  How  stupid  it  was 
of  you,  Major,  to  get  him  into  such  a  horrible  scrape." 

The  Major  eased  the  boy  down  with  his  strong 
arms,  put  a  cushion  under  his  head,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear: 


37°  The   $30.000   Bequest 

"Look  as  damned  sick  as  you  can!  Play  it  for 
all  it's  worth;  he's  touched,  you  see;  got  a  tender 
heart  under  there  somewhere;  fetch  a  groan,  and 
say,  'Oh,  mamma,  mamma';  it  '11  knock  him  out, 
sure  as  guns." 

Parrish  was  going  to  do  these  things  anyway,  from 
native  impulse,  so  they  came  from  him  promptly, 
with  great  and  moving  sincerity,  and  the  Major 
whispered:  "Splendid  !  Do  it  again;  Bernhardt 
couldn't  beat  it." 

What  with  the  Major's  eloquence  and  the  boy's 
misery,  the  point  was  gained  at  last;  the  Prince 
struck  his  colors,  and  said: 

"Have  it  your  way;  though  you  deserve  a  sharp 
lesson  and  you  ought  to  get  it.  I  give  you  exactly 
twenty-four  hours.  If  the  passport  is  not  here  then, 
don't  come  near  me;  it's  Siberia  without  hope  of 
pardon." 

While  the  Major  and  the  lad  poured  out  their 
thanks,  the  Prince  rang  in  a  couple  of  soldiers,  and 
in  their  own  language  he  ordered  them  to  go  with 
these  two  people,  and  not  lose  sight  of  the  younger 
one  a  moment  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours;  and 
if,  at  the  end  of  that  term,  the  boy  could  not  show  a 
passport,  impound  him  in  the  dungeons  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  and  report. 

The  unfortunates  arrived  at  the  hotel  with  their 
guards,  dined  under  their  eyes,  remained  in  Parrish 's 
room  until  the  Major  went  off  to  bed,  after  cheering 
up  the  said  Parrish,  then  one  of  the  soldiers  locked 


The   Belated   Russian   Passp9rt  371 

himself  and  Parrish  in,  and  the  other  one  stretched 
himself  across  the  door  outside  and  soon  went  off  to 
sleep. 

So  also  did  not  Alfred  Parrish.  The  moment  he 
was  alone  with  the  solemn  soldier  and  the  voiceless 
silence  his  machine-made  cheerfulness  began  to  waste 
away,  his  medicated  courage  began  to  giv»  off  its 
supporting  gases  and  shrink  towards  normal,  and  his 
poor  little  heart  to  shrivel  like  a  raisin.  Within  - 
thirty  minutes  he  struck  bottom;  grief,  misery, 
fright,  despair,  could  go  no  lower.  Bed?  Bed  was 
not  for  such  as  he;  bed  was  not  for  the  doomed,  the 
lost!  Sleep?  He  was  not  the  Hebrew  children,  he 
could  not  sleep  in  the  fire!  He  could  only  walk  the 
floor.  And  not  only  could,  but  must.  And  did,  by 
the  hour.  And  mourned,  and  wept,  and  shuddered, 
and  prayed. 

Then  ail-sorrowfully  he  made  his  last  dispositions, 
and  prepared  himself,  as  well  as  in  him  lay,  to  meet 
his  fate.  As  a  final  act,  he  wrote  a  letter: 

"Mv  DARLING  MOTHER, — When  these  sad  lines 
shall  have  reached  you  your  poor  Alfred  will  be  no 
more.  No;  worse  than  that,  far  worse!  Through 
my  own  fault  and  foolishness  I  have  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  a  sharper  or  a  lunatic;  I  do  not  know  which, 
but  in  either  case  I  feel  that  I  am  lost.  Sometimes 
I  think  he  is  a  sharper,  but  most  of  the  time  I  think 
he  is  only  mad,  for  he  has  a  kind,  good  heart,  I  know, 
and  he  certainly  seems  to  try  the  hardest  that  ever 


372  The  $30,000   Bequest 

a  person  tried  to  get  me  out  of  the  fatal  difficulties  he 
has  gotten  me  into. 

' '  In  a  few  hours  I  shall  be  one  of  a  nameless  horde 
plodding  the  snowy  solitudes  of  Russia,  under  the 
lash,  and  bound  for  that  land  of  mystery  and  misery 
and  termless  oblivion,  Siberia!  I  shall  not  live  to 
see  it;  my  heart  is  broken  and  I  shall  die.  Give  my 
picture  to  her,  and  ask  her  to  keep  it  in  memory  of 
me,  and  to  so  live  that  in  the  appointed  time  she 
may  join  me  in  that  better  world  where  there  is  no 
marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage,  and  where  there 
are  no  more  separations,  and  troubles  never  come. 
Give  my  yellow  dog  to  Archy  Hale,  and  the  other 
one  to  Henry  Taylor;  my  blazer  I  give  to  brother 
Will,  and  my  fishing  things  and  Bible. 

"There  is  no  hope  for  me.  I  cannot  escape;  the 
soldier  stands  there  with  his  gun  and  never  takes  his 
eyes  off  me,  just  blinks;  there  is  no  other  movement, 
any  more  than  if  he  was  dead.  I  cannot  bribe  him, 
the  maniac  has  my  money.  My  letter  of  credit  is  in 
my  trunk,  and  may  never  come — will  never  come,  I 
know.  Oh,  what  is  to  become  of  me!  Pray  for  me, 
darling  mother,  pray  for  your  poor  Alfred.  But  it 
will  do  no  good." 


IV 

IN  the  morning  Alfred  came  out  looking  scraggy 
and  worn  when  the  Major  summoned  him  to  an  early 
breakfast.  They  fed  their  guards,  they  lit  cigars, 
the  Major  loosened  his  tongue  and  set  it  going,  and 
under  its  magic  influence  Alfred  gradually  and  grate 
fully  became  hopeful,  measurably  cheerful,  and  al 
most  happy  once  more. 

But  he  would  not  leave  the  house.  Siberia  hung 
over  him  black  and  threatening,  his  appetite  for 
sights  was  all  gone,  he  could  not  have  borne  the 
shame  of  inspecting  streets  and  galleries  and  churches 
with  a  soldier  at  each  elbow  and  all  the  world  stop 
ping  and  staring  and  commenting — no,  he  would 
stay  within  and  wait  for  the  Berlin  mail  and  his  fate. 
So,  all  day  long  the  Major  stood  gallantly  by  him 
in  his  room,  with  one  soldier  standing  stiff  and  mo 
tionless  against  the  door  with  his  musket  at  his 
shoulder,  and  the  other  one  drowsing  in  a  chair  out 
side;  and  all  day  long  the  faithful  veteran  spun 
campaign  yarns,  described  battles,  reeled  off  ex 
plosive  anecdotes,  with  unconquerable  energy  and 
sparkle  and  resolution,  and  kept  the  scared  student 
alive  and  his  pulses  functioning.  The  long  day  wore 
to  a  close,  and  the  pair,  followed  by  their  guards, 


374  The  $30,000   Bequest 

went  down  to  the  great  dining-room  and  took  their 
seats. 

"The  suspense  will  be  over  before  long,  now," 
sighed  poor  Alfred. 

Just  then  a  pair  of  Englishmen  passed  by,  and  one 
of  them  said,  "So  we'll  get  no  letters  from  Berlin  to 
night." 

Parrish's  breath  began  to  fail  him.  The  English 
men  seated  themselves  at  a  near-by  table,  and  the 
other  one  said: 

"No,  it  isn't  as  bad  as  that."  Parrish's  breath 
ing  improved.  "There  is  later  telegraphic  news. 
The  accident  did  detain  the  train  formidably,  but  that 
is  all.  It  will  arrive  here  three  hours  late  to-night." 

Parrish  did  not  get  to  the  floor  this  time,  for  the 
Major  jumped  for  him  in  time.  He  had  been  listen 
ing,  and  foresaw  what  would  happen.  He  patted 
Parrish  on  the  back,  hoisted  him  out  of  his  chair, 
and  said,  cheerfully: 

"Come  along,  my  boy,  cheer  up,  there's  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  worry  about.  I  know  a  way  out. 
Bother  the  passport;  let  it  lag  a  week  if  it  wants  to, 
we  can  do  without  it." 

Parrish  was  too  sick  to  hear  him;  hope  was  gone, 
Siberia  present;  he  moved  off  on  legs  of  lead,  up 
held  by  the  Major,  who  walked  him  to  the  American 
legation,  heartening  him  on  the  way  with  assurances 
that  on  his  recommendation  the  minister  wouldn't 
hesitate  a  moment  to  grant  him  a  new  passport. 

4<I  had  that  card  up  my  sleeve  all  the  time,"  he 


The  Belated   Russian   Passport  375 

said.  "The  minister  knows  me — knows  me  famil 
iarly — chummed  together  hours  and  hours  under  a 
pile  of  other  wounded  at  Cold  Harbor;  been  chum- 
mies  ever  since,  in  spirit,  though  we  haven't  met 
much  in  the  body.  Cheer  up,  laddie,  everything's 
looking  splendid!  By  gracious!  I  feel  as  cocky  as 
a  buck  angel.  Here  we  are,  and  our  troubles  are  at 
an  end!  If  we  ever  really  had  any." 

There,  alongside  the  door,  was  the  trade-mark  of 
the  richest  and  freest  and  mightiest  republic  of  all 
the  ages :  the  pine  disk,  with  the  planked  eagle 
spread  upon  it,  his  head  and  shoulders  among  the 
stars,  and  his  claws  full  of  out-of-date  war  material; 
and  at  that  sight  the  tears  came  into  Alfred's  eyes, 
the  pride  of  country  rose  in  his  heart,  "  Hail  Columbia" 
boomed  up  in  his  breast,  and  all  his  fears  and  sor 
rows  vanished  away;  for  here  he  was  safe,  safe!  not 
all  the  powers  of  the  earth  would  venture  to  cross 
that  threshold  to  lay  a  hand  upon  him! 

For  economy's  sake  the  mightiest  republic's  lega 
tions  in  Europe  consist  of  a  room  and  a  half  on  the 
ninth  floor,  when  the  tenth  is  occupied,  and  the  lega 
tion  furniture  consists  of  a  minister  or  an  ambassador 
with  a  brakeman's  salary,  a  secretary  of  legation 
who  sells  matches  and  mends  crockery  for  a  living, 
a  hired  girl  for  interpreter  and  general  utility, 
pictures  of  the  American  liners,  a  chromo  of  the 
reigning  President,  a  desk,  three  chairs,  kerosene- 
lamp,  a  cat,  a  clock,  and  a  cuspidor  with  motto,  "In 
God  We  Trust." 


376  The  $30,000   Bequest 

The  party  climbed  up  there,  followed  by  the  es 
cort.  A  man  sat  at  the  desk  writing  official  things 
on  wrapping-paper  with  a  nail.  He  rose  and  faced 
about;  the  cat  climbed  down  and  got  under  the 
desk;  the  hired  girl  squeezed  herself  up  into  the 
corner  by  the  vodka-jug  to  make  room;  the  soldiers 
squeezed  themselves  up  against  the  wall  alongside  of 
her,  with  muskets  at  shoulder  arms.  Alfred  was 
radiant  with  happiness  and  the  sense  of  rescue.  The 
Major  cordially  shook  hands  with  the  official,  rattled 
off  his  case  in  easy  and  fluent  style,  and  asked  for 
the  desired  passport. 

The  official  seated  his  guests,  then  said:  "Well,  I 
am  only  the  secretary  of  legation,  you  know,  and  I 
wouldn't  like  to  grant  a  passport  while  the  minister 
is  on  Russian  soil.  There  is  far  too  much  responsi 
bility." 

"All  right,  send  for  him." 

The  secretary  smiled,  and  said:  "That's  easier 
said  than  done.  He's  away  up  in  the  wilds,  some 
where,  on  his  vacation." 

"Ger-reat  Scott!"  ejaculated  the  Major. 

Alfred  groaned;  the  color  went  out  of  his  face, 
and  he  began  to  slowly  collapse  in  his  clothes.  The 
secretary  said,  wonderingly: 

"Why,  what  are  you  Great  -  Scotting  about, 
Major?  The  Prince  gave  you  twenty-four  hours. 
Look  at  the  clock;  you're  all  right;  you've  half  an 
hour  left;  the  train  is  just  due;  the  passport  will  ar 
rive  in  time." 


The   Belated   Russian   Passport  377 

"Man,  there's  news!  The  train  is  three  hours  be 
hind  time!  This  boy's  life  and  liberty  are  wasting 
away  by  minutes,  and  only  thirty  of  them  left!  In 
half  an  hour  he's  the  same  as  dead  and  damned  to 
all  eternity!  By  God,  we  must  have  the  passport!" 

"Oh,  I  am  dying,  I  know  it!"  wailed  the  lad,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  arms  on  the  desk.  A  quick 
change  came  over  the  secretary,  his  placidity  van 
ished  away,  excitement  flamed  up  in  his  face  and 
eyes,  and  he  exclaimed: 

"I  see  the  whole  ghastliness  of  the  situation,  but, 
Lord  help  us,  what  can  I  do?  What  can  you  sug 
gest?" 

"Why,  hang  it,  give  him  the  passport!" 

"Impossible!  totally  impossible!  You  know  noth 
ing  about  him;  three  days  ago  you  had  never  heard 
of  him;  there's  no  way  in  the  world  to  identify  him. 
He  is  lost,  lost  —  there's  no  possibility  of  saving 
him!" 

The  boy  groaned  again,  and  sobbed  out,  "Lord, 
Lord,  it's  the  last  of  earth  for  Alfred  Parrish!" 

Another  change  came  over  the  secretary. 

In  the  midst  of  a  passionate  outburst  of  pity,  vex 
ation,  and  hopelessness,  he  stopped  short,  his  man-4 
ner  calmed  down,  and  he  asked,  in  the  indifferent 
voice  which  one  uses  in  introducing  the  subject  of 
the  weather  when  there  is  nothing  to  talk  about,  "Is 
that  your  name?" 

The  youth  sobbed  out  a  yes. 

"Where  are  you  from?" 


nr  THE 


378  The   $30,000   Bequest 

'  'Bridgeport." 

The  secretary  shook  his  head — shook  it  again — 
and  muttered  to  himself.  After  a  moment: 

"Born  there?" 

"No;  New  Haven." 

"Ah-h."  The  secretary  glanced  at  the  Major, 
who  was  listening  intently,  with  blank  and  unen 
lightened  face,  and  indicated  rather  than  said, 
"There  is  vodka  there,  in  case  the  soldiers  are 
thirsty.  The  Major  sprang  up,  poured  for  them, 
and  received  their  gratitude.  The  questioning  went 
on. 

"How  long  did  you  live  in  New  Haven?" 

"Till  I  was  fourteen.  Came  back  two  years  ago 
to  enter  Yale." 

"When  you  lived  there,  what  street  did  you  live 
on?" 

"Parker  Street." 

With  a  vague  half-light  of  comprehension  dawning 
in  his  eye,  the  Major  glanced  an  inquiry  at  the  sec 
retary.  The  secretary  nodded,  the  Major  poured 
vodka  again. 

"What  number?" 

"It  hadn't  any." 

The  boy  sat  up  and  gave  the  secretary  a  pathetic 
look  which  said,  "Why  do  you  want  to  torture  me 
with  these  foolish  things,  when  I  am  miserable 
enough  without  it?" 

The  secretary  went  on,  unheeding:  "What  kind  of 
a  house  was  it?" 


The   Belated   Russian   Passport  379 

"Brick — two-story." 

"Flush  with  the  sidewalk?" 

"No,  small  yard  in  front." 

"Iron  fence?" 

"No,  palings." 

The  Major  poured  vodka  again — without  instruc 
tions — poured  brimmers  this  time;  and  his  face  had 
cleared  and  was  alive  now. 

"What  do  you  see  when  you  enter  the  door?" 

"A  narrow  hall;  door  at  the  end  of  it,  and  a  door 
at  your  right." 

"Any thing  else?" 

"Hat-rack." 

"Room  at  the  right?" 

"Parlor." 

"Carpet?" 

"Yes." 

"Kind  of  carpet?" 

"Old-fashioned  Wilton." 

"Figures?" 

' '  Yes — hawking-party,  horseback." 

The  Major  cast  an  eye  at  the  clock  —  only  six 
minutes  left!  He  faced  about  with  the  jug,  and  as 
he  poured  he  glanced  at  the  secretary,  then  at  the 
clock — inquiringly.  The  secretary  nodded ;  the  Major 
covered  the  clock  from  view  with  his  body  a  mo 
ment,  and  set  the  hands  back  half  an  hour;  then 
he  refreshed  the  men — double  rations. 

"Room  beyond  the  hall  and  hat-rack?" 

"  Dining-room." 


The  $30,000   Bequest 

"Stove?" 

"Grate." 

"Did  your  people  own  the  house?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  they  own  it  yet?" 

"No;  sold  it  when  we  moved  to  Bridgeport." 

The  secretary  paused  a  little,  then  said,  "Did  you 
have  a  nickname  among  your  playmates?" 

The  color  slowly  rose  in  the  youth's  pale  cheeks, 
and  he  dropped  his  eyes.  He  seemed  to  struggle 
with  himself  a  moment  or  two,  then  he  said,  plain 
tively,  "They  called  me  Miss  Nancy." 

The  secretary  mused  awhile,  then  he  dug  up  an 
other  question: 

"Any  ornaments  in  the  dining-room?" 

"Well,  y— no." 

"None?     None  at  a//?" 

"No." 

"The  mischief!     Isn't  that  a  little  odd?     Think!" 

The  youth  thought  and  thought;  the  secretary 
waited,  slightly  panting.  At  last  the  imperilled  waif 
looked  up  sadly  and  shook  his  head. 

"Think — think!"  cried  the  Major,  in  anxious  solici 
tude;  and  poured  again. 

"Come!"  said  the  secretary,  "not  even  a  pict 
ure?" 

"Oh,  certainly!  but  you  said  ornament." 

"Ah!     What  did  your  father  think  of  it?" 

The  color  rose  again.     The  boy  was  silent. 

"Speak,"  said  the  secretary. 


The   Belated    Russian   Passport  381 

"Speak,"  cried  the  Major,  and  his  trembling  hand 
poured  more  vodka  outside  the  glasses  than  inside. 

"I — I  can't  tell  you  what  he  said,"  murmured  the 
boy, 

"Quick!  quick!"  said  the  secretary;  "out  with  it; 
there's  no  time  to  lose — home  and  liberty  or  Siberia 
and  death  depend  upon  the  answer." 

"Oh,  have  pity!  he  is  a  clergyman,  and— 

"No  matter;  out  with  it,  or — " 

"He  said  it  was  the  hellfiredest  nightmare  he  ever 
struck!" 

"Saved!"  shotted  the  secretary,  and  seized  his 
nail  and  a  blank  passport.  "/  identify  you;  I've 
lived  in  the  house,  and  I  painted  the  picture  my 
self!" 

"Oh,  come  to  my  arms,  my  poor  rescued  boy!" 
cried  the  Major.  "We  will  always  be  grateful  to 
God  that  He  made  this  artist!— if  He  did." 


TWO  LITTLE  TALES 

FIRST  STORY:  THE  MAN  WITH  A  MESSAGE  FOR  THE 
DIRECTOR-GENERAL 

SOME  days  ago,  in  this  second  month  of  1900, 
a  friend  made  an  afternoon  call  upon  me  here 
in  London.  We  are  of  that  age  when  men  who  are 
smoking  away  their  time  in  chat  do  not  talk  quite  so 
much  about  the  pleasantnesses  of  life  as  about  its 
exasperations.  By  and  by  this  friend  began  to 
abuse  the  War  Office.  It  appeared  that  he  had  a 
friend  who  had  been  inventing  something  which 
could  be  made  very  useful  to  the  soldiers  in  South 
Africa.  It  was  a  light  and  very  cheap  and  durable 
boot,  which  would  remain  dry  in  wet  weather,  and 
keep  its  shape  and  firmness.  The  inventor  wanted 
to  get  the  government's  attention  called  to  it,  but  he 
was  an  unknown  man  and  knew  the  great  officials 
would  pay  no  heed  to  a  message  from  him. 

1  This  shows  that  he  was  an  ass  —  like  the  rest  of 
us,"  I  said,  interrupting.  "  Go  on." 

"  But  why  have  you  said  that?  The  man  spoke 
the  truth." 

"  The  man  spoke  a  lie.      Go  on." 

"  I  w\\\  prove  that  he — " 


Two   Little   Tales  383 

"You  can't  prove  anything  of  the  kind.  I  am 
very  old  and  very  wise.  You  must  not  argue  with 
me:  it  is  irreverent  and  offensive.  Go  on." 

"  Very  well.  But  you  will  presently  see.  I  am 
not  unknown,  yet  even  /  was  not  able  to  get  the 
man's  message  to  the  Director-General  of  the  Shoe- 
Leather  Department." 

"  This  is  another  lie.      Pray  go  on." 

"  But  I  assure  you  on  my  honor  that  I  failed." 

"Oh,  certainly.  I  knew  that.  You  didn't  need 
to  tell  me." 

1 '  Then  where  is  the  lie  ?  " 

"It  is  in  your  intimation  that  you  were  not  able 
to  get  the  Director-General's  immediate  attention  to 
the  man's  message.  It  is  a  lie,  because  you  could 
have  gotten  his  immediate  attention  to  it." 

"I  tell  you  I  couldn't.  In  three  months  I 
haven't  accomplished  it." 

"  Certainly.  Of  course.  I  could  know  that  with 
out  your  telling  me.  You  could  have  gotten  his  im 
mediate  attention  if  you  had  gone  at  it  in  a  sane 
way;  and  so  could  the  other  man." 

"  I  did  go  at  it  in  a  sane  way." 

"You  didn't." 

1 '  How  do  you  know  ?  What  do  you  know  about 
the  circumstances?  " 

"Nothing  at  all.  But  you  didn't  go  at  it  in  a 
sane  way.  That  much  I  know  to  a  certainty." 

11  How  can  you  know  it,  when  you  don't  know 
what  method  I  used  ?  ' ' 


The  $30,000   Bequest 

' '  I  know  by  the  result.  The  result  is  perfect 
proof.  You  went  at  it  in  an  insane  way.  I  am 
very  old  and  very  w — " 

44  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  But  will  you  let  me  tell  you 
how  I  proceeded?  I  think  that  will  settle  whether 
it  was  insanity  or  not." 

44  No;  that  has  already  been  settled.  But  go  on, 
since  you  so  desire  to  expose  yourself.  I  am 
very  o — " 

"  Certainly,  certainly.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
courteous  letter  to  the  Director-General  of  the  Shoe- 
Leather  Department,  explai — " 

"  Do  you  know  him  personally?  " 

44  No." 

44  You  have  scored  one  for  my  side.  You  began 
insanely.  Go  on." 

44  In  the  letter  I  made  the  great  value  and  inex- 
pensiveness  of  the  invention  clear,  and  offered  to — " 

14  Call  and  see  him?  Of  course  you  did.  Score 
two  against  yourself.  I  am  v — ' ' 

44  He  didn't  answer  for  three  days." 

41  Necessarily.     Proceed." 

44  Sent  me  three  gruff  lines  thanking  me  for  my 
trouble,  and  proposing — " 

44  Nothing." 

4 'That's  it  —  proposing  nothing.  Then  I  wrote 
him  more  elaborately  and  — ' ' 

4 'Score  three— " 

4  *  —  and  got  no  answer.  At  the  end  of  a  week  I 
wrote  and  asked,  with  some  touch  of  asperity,  for 
an  answer  to  that  letter." 


Two   Little  Tales  385 

"Four.     Goon." 

* f  An  answer  came  back  saying  the  letter  had  not 
been  received,  and  asking  for  a  copy.  I  traced  the 
letter  through  'the  post-olftce,  and  found  that  it  had 
been  received ;  (but  I  sent  a  copy  and  said  nothing. 
Two  weeks  passed  without  further  notice  of  me.  In 
the  mean  time  I  gradually  got  myself  cooled  down  to 
a  polke-letter  temperature.  Then  I  wrote  and  pro 
posed  an  interview  for  next  dayr  and  said  that  if  I 
did  not  hear  from  him  in  the  mean  time  I  should  take 
his  silence  for  assent." 

4 'Score  five." 

"  I  arrived  at  twelve  sharp,  and  was  given  a  chair 
in  the  anteroom  and  told  to  wait.  I  waited  until 
half-past  one ;  then  I  left,  ashamed  and  angry.  I 
waited  another  week,  to  cool  down;  then  I  wrote 
and  made  another  appointment  with  him  for  next 
day  noon." 

**  Score  six." 

"He  answered,  assenting.  I  arrived  promptly, 
and  kept  a  chair  warm  until  half-past  two.  I  left 
then,  and  shook  the  dust  of  that  place  from  my 
shoes  for  good  and  all.  For  rudeness,  inefficiency, 
incapacity,  indifference  to  the  army's  interests,  the 
Director-General  of  the  Shoe-Leather  Department 
of  the  War  Office  is,  in  my  o — " 

"  Peace !  I  am  very  old  and  very  wise,  and  have 
seen  many  seemingly  intelligent  people  who  hadn't 
common  sense  enough  to  go  at  a  simple  and  easy 
thing  like  this  in  a  common-sense  way.  You  are 


386  The  $30,000   Bequest 

not  a  curiosity  to  me;  I  have  personally  known 
millions  and  billions  like  you.  You  have  lost  three 
months  quite  unnecessarily;  the  inventor  has  lost 
three  months;  the  soldiers  have  lost  three  —  nine 
months  altogether.  I  will  now  read  you  a  little 
tale  which  I  wrote  last  night.  Then  you  will  call  on 
the  Director-General  at  noon  to-morrow  and  transact 
your  business." 

"Splendid!      Do  you  know  him?  " 

"No;   but  listen  to  the  tale."     . 

SECOND  STORY :  HOW  THE  CHIMNEY-SWEEP  GOT  THE 
EAR  OF  THE  EMPEROR 

I 

Summer  was  come,  and  all  the  strong  were  bowed 
by  the  burden  of  the  awful  heat,  and  many  of  the 
weak  were  prostrate  and  dying.  For  weeks  the 
army  had  been  wasting  away  with  a  plague  of 
dysentery,  that  scourge  of  the  soldier,  and  there 
was  but  little  help.  The  doctors  were  in  despair; 
such  efficacy  as  their  drugs  and  their  science  had 
once  had  —  and  it  was  not  much  at  its  best — -was  a 
thing  of  the  past,  and  promised  to  remain  so. 

The  Emperor  commanded  the  physicians  of  great 
est  renown  to -appear  before  him  for  a  consultation, 
for  he  was  profoundly  disturbed.  He  was  very 
severe  with  them,  and  called  them  to  account  for 
letting  his  soldiers  die :  and  asked  them  if  they  knew 
their  trade,  or  didn't;  and  were  they  properly  heal 
ers,  or  merely  assassins?  Then  the  principal  assassin. 


Two   Little  Tales  387 

who  was  also  the  oldest  doctor  in  the  land  and  the 
most  venerable  in  appearance,  answered  and  said: 

"We  have  done  what  we  could,  your  Majesty, 
and  for  a  good  reason  it  has  been  little.  No  medi 
cine  and  no  physician  can  cure  that  disease;  only 
nature  and  a  good  constitution  can  do  it.  I  am  old, 
and  I  know.  No  doctor  and  no  medicine  can  cure 
it  —  I  repeat  it  and  I  emphasize  it.  Sometimes  they 
seem  to  help  nature  a  little, —  a  very  little, —  but  as 
a  rule,  they  merely  do  damage." 

The  Emperor  was  a  profane  and  passionate  man, 
and  he  deluged  the  doctors  with  rugged  and  un 
familiar  names,  and  drove  them  from  his  presence. 

Within  a  day  he  was  attacked  by  that  fell  disease 
himself.  The  news  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
and  carried  consternation  with  it  over  all  the  land. 

All  the  talk  was  about  this  awful  disaster,  and 
there  was  general  depression,  for  few  had  hope. 
The  Emperor  himself  was  very  melancholy,  and 
sighed  and  said : 

4 'The  will  of  God  be  done.  Send  for  the  assas 
sins  again,  and  let  us  get  over  with  it." 

They  came,  and  felt  his  pulse  and  looked  at  his 
tongue,  and  fetched  the  drug  store  and  emptied  it 
into  him,  and  sat  down  patiently  to  wait  —  for  they 
were  not  paid  by  the  job,  but  by  the  year. 

II 

Tommy  was  sixteen  and  a  bright  lad,  but  he  was 
not  in  society.  His  rank  was  too  humble  for  that, 


388  The   $30,000    Bequest 

and  his  employment  too  base.  In  fact,  it  was  the 
lowest  of  all  employments,  for  he  was  second  in 
commarrd  to  his  father,  who  emptied  cesspools  and 
drove  a  night-cart.  Tommy's  closest  friend  was 
Jimmy  the  chimney-sweep,  a  slim  little  fellow  of 
fourteen,  who  was  honest  and  industrious,  and  had  a 
good  heart,  and  supported  a  bedridden  mother  by 
his  dangerous  and  unpleasant  tradfe. 

About  a  month  after  the  Emperor  fell  ill,  these 
two  lads  met  one  evening  about  nine.  Tommy  was 
on  his  way  to  his  night-work,  and  of  course  was  not 
in  his  Sundays,  but  in  his  dreadful  work-clothes,  and 
not  smelling  very  well.  Jimmy  was  on  his  way 
home  from  his  day's  labor,  and  was  blacker  than 
any  other  object  imaginable,  and  he  had  his  brushes 
on  his  shoulder  and  his  soot-bag  at  his  waist,  and  no 
feature  of  his  sable  face  was  distinguishable  except 
his  lively  eyes. 

They  sat  down  on  the  curbstone  to  talk;  and  of 
course  it  was  upon  the  one  subject  —  the  nation's 
calamity,  the  Emperor's  disorder.  Jimmy  was  full  of 
a  great  project,  and  burning  to  unfold  it.  He  said : 

1 '  Tommy,  I  can  cure  his  Majesty.  I  know  how 
to  do  it." 

Tommy  was  surprised. 

"What!     You?" 

44  Yes,  I." 

w  Why,  you  little  fool,  the  best  doctors  can't." 

"I  don't  care:  I  can  do  it.  I  can  cure  him  in 
fifteen  minutes." 


Two   Little  Tales  389 

"  Oh,  come  gff !     What  are  you  giving  me?  " 

"The  facts  — that's  all." 

Jimmy's  manner  was  so  serious  that  it  sobered 
Tommy,  who  said : 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  earnest,  Jimmy.  Are  you 
in  earnest?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  What  is  the  plan?     How'll  you  cure  him?  " 

"  Tell  him  to  eat  a  slice  of  ripe  watermelon." 

It  caught  Tommy  rather  suddenly,  and  he  was 
shouting  with  laughter  at  the  absurdity  of  the  idea 
before  he  could  put  on  a  stopper.  But  he  sobered 
down  when  he  saw  that  Jimmy  was  wounded.  He 
patted  Jimmy's  knee  affectionately,  not  minding  the 
soot,  and  said : 

"I  take  the  laugh  all  back.  I  didn't  mean  any 
harm,,  Jimmy,  and  I  won't  do  it  again.  You  see,  it 
seemed  so  funny,  because  wherever  there's  a  soldier- 
camp  and  dysentery,  the  doctors  always  put  up  a 
sign  saying  anybody  caught  bringing  watermelons 
there  will  be  flogged  with  the  cat  till  he  can't  stand." 

11 1  know  it  —  the  idiots !  "  said  Jimmy,  with  both 
tears  and  anger  in  his  voice.  "There's  plenty  of 
watermelons,  and  not  one  of  all  those  soldiers  ought 
to  have  died." 

* '  But,  Jimmy,  what  put  the  notion  into  your  head  ? ' ' 

"It  isn't  a  notion;  it's  a  fact.  Do  you  know 
that  old  gray-headed  -  Zulu  ?  Well,  this  long  time 
back  he  has  been  curing  a  lot  of  our  friends,  and 
my  mother  has  seen  him  do  it,  and  so  have  I.  It 


39°  The  $30,000   Bequest 

takes  only  one  or  two  slices  of  melon,  and  it  don't 
make  any  difference  whether  the  disease  is  new  or 
old;  it  cures  it." 

"  It's  very  odd.  But,  Jimmy,  if  it  is  so,  the 
Emperor  ought  to  be  told  of  it." 

"Of  course;  and  my  mother  has  told  people, 
hoping  they  could  get  the  word  to  him;  but  they 
are  poor  working-folks  and  ignorant,  and  don't 
know  how  to  manage  it." 

"Of  course  they  don't,  the  blunderheads,"  said 
Tommy,  scornfully.  "  /'//  get  it  to  him  !  " 

'  You  ?  You  night-cart  polecat !  ' '  And  it  was 
Jimmy's  turn  to  laugh.  But  Tommy  retorted 
sturdily : 

"  Oh,  laugh  if  you  like;   but  I'll  do  it!  " 

It  had  such  an  assured  and  confident  sound  that  it 
made  an  impression,  and  Jimmy  asked  gravely: 

"  Do  you  know  the  Emperor?  " 

*'  Do  /  know  him?  Why,  how  you  talk!  Of 
course  I  don't." 

"Then  how' 11  you  do  it?" 

"It's  very  simple  and  very  easy.  Guess.  How 
would  you  do  it,  Jimmy?  " 

"Send  him  a  letter.  I  never  thought  of  it  till 
this  minute.  But  I'll  bet  that's  your  way." 

"I'll  bet  it  ain't.  Tell  me,  how  would  you 
send  it?" 

"  Why,  through  the  mail,  of  course." 

Tommy  overwhelmed  him  with  scoffings,  and  said: 

"Now,  don't  you    suppose    every    crank   in  the 


Two    Little   Tales  391 

empire  is  doing  the  same  thing?     Do  you  mean  to 
say  you  haven't  thought  of  that?  " 

"Well  —  no,''  said  Jimmy,  abashed. 
'  You  might  have  thought  of  it,  if  you  weren't  so 
young  and  inexperienced.  Why,  Jimmy,  when  even 
a  common  general,  or  a  poet,  or  an  actor,  or  any 
body  that's  a  little  famous  gets  sick,  all  the  cranks 
in  the  kingdom  load  up  the  mails  with  certain-sure 
quack  cures  for  him.  And  so,  what's  bound  to 
happen  when  it's  the  Emperor?  " 

"I  suppose  it's  worse,"  said  Jimmy,  sheepishly. 

"Well,  I  should  think  so!  Look  here,  Jimmy: 
every  single  night  we  cart  off  as  many  as  six  loads 
of  that  kind  of  letters  from  the  back  yard  of  the 
palace,  where  they're  thrown.  Eighty  thousand 
letters  in  one  night !  Do  you  reckon  anybody 
reads  them?  Sho !  not  a  single  one.  It's  what 
would  happen  to  your  letter  if  you  wrote  it — 'which 
you  won't,  I  reckon?  " 

"  No,"  sighed  Jimmy,  crushed. 

"But  it's  all  right,  Jimmy.  Don't  you  fret: 
there's  more  than  one  way  to  skin  a  cat.  /'//  get 
the  word  to  him." 

"Oh,  if  you  only  could,  Tommy,  I  should  love 
you  forever  !  ' ' 

"I'll  do  it,  I  tell  you.  Don't  you  worry;  you 
depend  on  me." 

"  Indeed  I  will,  Tommy,  for  you  do  know  so 
much,  You're  not  like  other  boys:  they  never 
know  anything.  HowlJ  you  manage,  Tommy?" 


392  The   $30,000   Bequest 

Tommy  was  greatly  pleased.  He  settled  himself 
for  reposeful  talk,  and  said : 

"  Do  you  know  that  ragged  poor  thing  that  thinks 
he's  a  butcher  because  he  goes  around  with  a  basket 
and  sells  cat's  meat  and  rotten  livers?  Well,  to 
begin  with,  I'll  tell  kirn." 

Jimmy  was  deeply  disappointed  and  chagrined, 
and  said: 

"Now,  Tommy,  it's  a  shame  to  talk  so.  You 
know  my  heart's  in  ft,  and  it's  not  right." 

Tommy  gave  him  a  love-pat,  and  said : 

"  Don't  you  be  troubled,  Jimmy.  /  know  what 
I'm  about.  Pretty  soon  you'll  see.  That  half- 
breed  butcher  will  tell  the  old  woman  that  sells 
chestnuts  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  —  she's  bis  closest 
friend,  and  I'll  ask  him  to;  then,  by  request,  she'll 
tell  heir  rich  aunt  that  keeps  the  little  fruit-shop  on 
the  corner  two  blocks  above ;  and  that  one  will  tell 
her  particular  friend,  the  man  that  keeps  the  game- 
shop  ;  and  he  will  tell  his  friend  the  sergeant  of 
police;  and  the  sergeant  will  tell  his  captain,  and  the 
captain  will  tell  the  magistrate,  and  the  magistrate 
will  tell  his  brother-in-law  the  county  judge,,  and 
the  county  judge  will  tell  the  sheriff,  and  the  sheriff 
will  tell  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  the  Lord  Mayor  will 
tell  the  President  of  the  Council,  and  the  President 
of  the  Council  will  tell  the—" 

"By  George,  but  it's  a  wonderful  scheme, 
Tommy  !  How  ever  did  you  — ' ' 

" — Rear-Admiral,  and  the  Rear  will  tell  the  Vice, 


Two    Little   Tales  393 

and  the  Vice  will  tell  the  Admiral  of  the  Blue,  and 
the  Blue  will  tell  the  Red,  and  the  Red  will  tell  the 
White,  and  the  White  will  tell  the  First  Lord  of  the 
Admiralty,  and  the  First  Lord  will  tell  the  Speaker 
of  the  House,  and  the  Speaker — 

41  Go  it,  Tommy;  you're  'most  there!  " 
"—will  tell  the  Master  of  the  Hounds,  and  the 
Master  will  tell  the  Head  Groom  of  the  Stables,  and 
the  Head  Groom  will  tell  the  Chief  Equerry,  and 
the  Chief  Equerry  will  tell  the  First  Lord  in  Waiting, 
and  the  First  Lord  will  tell  the  Lord  High  Chamber 
lain,  and  the  Lord  High  Chamberlain  will  tell  the 
Master  of  the  Household,  and  the  Master  of  the 
Household  will  tell  the  little  pet  page  that  fans  the 
flies  off  the  Emperor,  and  the  page  will  get  down  on 
his  knees  and  whisper  it  to  his  Majesty  —  and  the 
game's  made  !  " 

"  I've  got  to  get  up  and  hurrah  a  couple  of  times, 
Tommy.  It's  the  grandest  idea  that  ever  was. 
What  ever  put  it  into  your  head  ?  ' ' 

"  Sit  down  and  listen,  and  I'll  give  you  some 
wisdom  —  and  don't  you  ever  forget  it  as  long  as 
you  live.  Now,  then,  who  is  the  closest  friend 
you've  got,  and  the  one  you  couldn't  and  wouldn't 
ever  refuse  anything  in  the  world  to?  " 

"Why,    it's    you,    Tommy.      You    know    that." 

"  Suppose  you  wanted  to  ask  a  pretty  large  favor 

of  the  cat's-meat  man.     Well,  you  don't  know  him, 

and  he  would  tell  you  to  go  to  thunder,  for  he  is  that 

kind  of  a  person ;  but  he  is  my  next  best  friend  after 

26 


394  The  $30.000   Bequest 

you,  and  would  run  his  legs  off  to  do  me  a  kindness 
—  any  kindness,  he  don't  care  what  it  is.  Now,  I'll 
ask  you:  which  is  the  most  common-sensible  —  for 
you  to  go  and  ask  him  to  tell  the  chestnut-woman 
about  your  watermelon  cure,  or  for  you  to  get  me 
to  do  it  for  you?  " 

"To  get  you  to  do  it  for  me,  of  course.  I 
wouldn't  ever  have  thought  of  that,  Tommy;  it's 
splendid!  " 

11  It's  &  philosophy,  you  see.  Mighty  good  word  — 
and  large.  It  goes  on  this  idea:  everybody  in  the 
world,  little  and  big,  has  one  special  friend,  a  friend 
that  he's  glad  to  do  favors  to  —  not  sour  about  it, 
but  glad —  glad  clear  to  the  marrow.  And  so,  I 
don't  care  where  you  start,  you  can  get  at  anybody's 
ear  that  you  want  to  —  I  don't  care  how  low  you  are, 
nor  how  high  he  is.  And  it's  so  simple:  you've 
only  to  find  the  first  friend,  that  is  all;  that  ends 
your  part  of  the  work.  He  finds  the  next  friend 
himself,  and  that  one  finds  the  third,  and  so  on, 
friend  after  friend,  link  after  link,  like  a  chain;  and 
you  can  go  up  it  or  down  it,  as  high  as  you  like  or 
as  low  as  you  like." 

"  It's  just  beautiful,  Tommy." 

"It's  as  simple  and  easy  as  a-b-c;  but  did  you 
ever  hear  of  anybody  trying  it?  No;  everybody  is 
a  fool.  He  goes  to  a  stranger  without  any  intro 
duction,  or  writes  him  a  letter,  and  of  course  he 
strikes  a  cold  wave  —  and  serves  him  gorgeously 
right.  Now,  the  Emperor  don't  know  me,  but 


Two  Little  Tales  395 

that's  no  matter  —  he'll  eat  his  watermelon  to-mor 
row.  You'll  see.  Hi-hi  —  stop!  It's  the  cat's- 
meat  man.  Good-by,  Jimmy;  I'll  overtake  him." 

He  did  overtake  him,  and  said : 

"  Say,  will  you  do  me  a  favor?  " 

"  Willlt  Well,  I  should  say!  I'm  your  man. 
Name  it,  and  see  me  fly !  " 

"  Go  tell  the  chestnut- woman  to  put  down  every 
thing  and  carry  this  message  to  her  first-best  friend, 
and  tell  the  friend  to  pass  it  along."  He  worded  the 
message,  and  said,  "  Now,  then,  rush!  " 

The  next  moment  the  chimney-sweep's  word  to 
the  Emperor  was  on  its  way. 

Ill 

The  next  evening,  toward  midnight,  the  doctors 
sat  whispering  together  in  the  imperial  sick-room, 
and  they  were  in  deep  trouble,  for  the  Emperor  was 
in  very  bad  case.  They  could  not  hide  it  from  them 
selves  that  every  time  they  emptied  a  fresh  drug 
store  into  him  he  got  worse.  It  saddened  them,  for 
they  were  expecting  that  result.  The  poor  emaci 
ated  Emperor  lay  motionless,  with  his  eyes  closed, 
and  the  page  that  was  his  darling  was  fanning  the 
flies  away  and  crying  softly.  Presently  the  boy  heard 
the  silken  rustle  of  a  portiere,  and  turned  and  saw  the 
Lord  High  Great  Master  of  the  Household  peering  in 
at  the  door  and  excitedly  motioning  to  him  to  come. 
Lightly  and  swiftly  the  page  tiptoed  his  way  to  his 
dear  and  worshiped  friend  the  Master,  who  said: 


396  The  $30,000   Bequest 

"  Only  you  can  persuade  him,  my  child,  and  oh, 
don't  fail  to  do  it!  Take  this,  make  him  eat  it,  and 
he  is  saved." 

"  On  my  head  be  it.      He  shall  eat  it!  " 

It  was  a  couple  of  great  slices  of  ruddy,  fresh 
watermelon. 

The  next  morning  the  news  flew  everywhere  that 
the  Emperor  was  sound  and  well  again,  and  had 
hanged  the  doctors.  A  wave  of  joy  swept  the  land, 
and  frantic  preparations  were  made  to  illuminate. 

After  breakfast  his  Majesty  sat  meditating.  His 
gratitude  was  unspeakable,  and  he  was  trying  to  de 
vise  a  reward  rich  enough  to  properly  testify  it  to  his 
benefactor.  He  got  it  arranged  in  his  mind,  and 
called  the  page,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  invented 
that  cure.  The  boy  said  no  —  he  got  it  from  the 
Master  of  the  Household. 

He  was  sent  away,  and  the  Emperor  went  to  de 
vising  again.  The  Master  was  an  earl;  he  would 
make  him  a  duke,  and  give  him  a  vast  estate  which 
belonged  to  a  member  of  the  Opposition.  He  had 
him  called,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  the  inventor  of 
the  remedy.  But  the  Master  was  an  honest  man, 
and  said  he  got  it  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain.  He 
was  sent  away,  and  the  Emperor  thought  some 
more.  The  Chamberlain  was  a  viscount;  he  would 
make  him  an  earl,  and  give  him  a  large  income. 
But  the  Chamberlain  referred  him  to  the  First  Lord 
in  Waiting,  and  there  was  some  more  thinking;  his 
Majesty  thought  out  a  smaller  reward.  But  the 


"JIMMY  SAVES  THE  EMPEROR 


Two    Little    Tales  397 

First  Lord  in  Waiting  referred  him  back  further,  and 
he  had  to  sit  down-  and  think  out  a  further  and 
becomingly  and  suitably  smaller  reward. 

Then,  to  break  the  tediousness  of  the  inquiry  and 
hurry  the  business,  he  sent  for  the  Grand  High 
Chief  Detective,  and  commanded  him  to  trace  the 
cure  to  the  bottom,  so  that  he  could  properly  reward 
his  benefactor. 

At  nine  in  the  evening  the  High  Chief  Detective 
brought  the  word.  He  had  traced  the  cure  down 
to  a  lad  named  Jimmy,  a  chimney-sweep.  The 
Emperor  said,  with  deep  feeling: 

"Brave  boy,  he  saved  my  life,  and  shall  not  re 
gret  it!  " 

And  sent  him  a  pair  of  his  own  boots;  and  the 
next  best  ones  he  had,  too.  They  were  too  large 
for  Jimmy,  but  they  fitted  the  Zulu,  so  it  was  all 
right,  and  everything  as  it  should  be. 

CONCLUSION  TO  THE  FIRST  STORY 

' '  There  —  do  you  get  the  idea  ?  ' ' 

"  I  am  obliged  to  admit  that  I  do.  And  it  will  be 
as  you  have  said.  I  will  transact  the  business  to 
morrow.  I  intimately  know  the  Director-General's 
nearest  friend.  He  will  give  me  a  note  of  introduc 
tion,  with  a  word  to  say  my  matter  is  of  real  im 
portance  to  the  government.  I  will  take  it  along, 
without  an  appointment,  and  send  it  in,  with  my  card, 
and  I  shan't  have  to  wait  so  much  as  half  a  minute." 

That  turned  out  true  to  the  letter,  and  the  govern 
ment  adopted  the  boots. 


DIPLOMATIC  PAY  AND  CLOTHES 

VIENNA,  January  5. —  I  find  in  this  morning's 
papers  the  statement  that  the  Government  of 
the  United  States  has  paid  to  the  two  members  of 
the  Peace  Commission  entitled  to  receive  money  for 
their  services  $100,000  each  for  their  six  weeks' 
work  in  Paris. 

I  hope  that  this  is  true.  I  will  allow  myself  the 
satisfaction  of  considering  that  it  is  true,  and  of 
treating  it  as  a  thing  finished  and  settled. 

It  is  a  precedent ;  and  ought  to  be  a  welcome  one 
to  our  country.  A  precedent  always  has  a  chance 
to  be  valuable  (as  well  as  the  other  way)  ;  and  its 
best  chance  to  be  valuable  (or  the  other  way)  is 
when  it  takes  such  a  striking  form  as  to  fix  a  whole 
nation's  attention  upon  it.  If  it  come  justified  out 
of  the  discussion  which  will  follow,  it  will  find  a 
career  ready  and  waiting  for  it. 

We  realize  that  the  edifice  of  public  justice  is  built 
of  precedents,  from  the  ground  upward ;  but  we  do 
not  always  realize  that  all  the  other  details  of  our 
civilization  are  likewise  built  of  precedents.  The 
changes  also  which  they  undergo  are  due  to  the  in- 


Diplomatic   Pay   and   Clothes  399 

trusion  of  new  precedents,  which  hold  their  ground 
against  opposition,  and  keep  their  place.  A  pre 
cedent  may  die  at  birth,  or  it  may  live  —  it  is  mainly 
a  matter  of  luck.  If  it  be  imitated  once,  it  has  a 
chance ;  if  twice  a  better  chance ;  if  three  times  it  is 
reaching  a  point  where  account  must  be  taken  of  it ; 
if  four,  five,  or  six  times,  it  has  probably  come  to 
stay  —  for  a  whole  century,  possibly.  If  a  town 
start  a  new  bow,  or  a  new  dance,  or  a  new  temper 
ance  project,  or  a  new  kind  of  hat,  and  can  get  the 
precedent  adopted  in  the  next  town,  the  career  of 
that  precedent  is  begun ;  and  it  will  be  unsafe  to  bet 
as  to  where  the  end  of  its  journey  is  going  to  be.  It 
may  not  get  this  start  at  all,  and  may  have  no  career; 
but  if  a  crown  prince  introduce  the  precedent,  it  will 
attract  vast  attention,  and  its  chances  for  a  career 
are  so  great  as  to  amount  almost  to  a  certainty. 

For  a  long  time  we  have  been  reaping  damage 
from  a  couple  of  disastrous  precedents.  One  is 
the  precedent  of  shabby  pay  to  public  servants 
standing  for  the  power  and  dignity  of  the  Republic 
in  foreign  lands ;  the  other  is  a  precedent  condemn 
ing  them  to  exhibit  themselves  officially  in  clothes 
which  are  not  only  without  grace  or  dignity,  but  are 
a  pretty  loud  and  pious  rebuke  to  the  vain  and 
frivolous  costumes  worn  by  the  other  officials.  To 
our  day  an  American  ambassador's  official  costume 
remains  under  the  reproach  of  these  defects.  At  a 
public  function  in  a  European  court  all  foreign  rep 
resentatives  except  ours  wear  clothes  which  in  some 


400  The  $30,000   Bequest 

way  distinguish  them  from  the  unofficial  throng,  and 
mark  them  as  standing  for  their  countries.  But  ouf 
representative  appears  in  a  plain  black  swallow-tail, 
which  stands  for  neither  country  nor  people.  It 
has  no  nationality.  It  is  found  in  all  countries;  it 
is  as  international  as  a  night-shirt.  It  has  no  par 
ticular  meaning:  but  our  Government  tries  to  give  it 
one ;  it  tries  to  make  it  stand  for  Republican  Sim 
plicity,  modesty  and  unpretentiousness.  Tries,  and 
without  doubt  fails,  for  it  is  not  conceivable  that  this 
loud  ostentation  of  simplicity  deceives  any  one. 
The  statue  that  advertises  its  modesty  with  a  fig- 
leaf  really  brings  its  modesty  under  suspicion. 
Worn  officially,  our  nonconforming  swallow-tail  is  a 
declaration  of  ungracious  independence  in  the  mat 
ter  of  manners,  and  is  uncourteous.  It  says  to  all 
around:  "In  Rome  we  do  not  choose  to  do  as 
Rome  does;  we  refuse  to  respect  your  tastes  and 
your  traditions;  we  make  no  sacrifices  to  any  one's 
customs  and  prejudices;  we  yield  no  jot  to  the 
courtesies  of  life;  we  prefer  our  manners,  and  in 
trude  them  here." 

That  is  not  the  true  American  spirit,  and  those 
clothes  misrepresent  us.  When  a  foreigner  comes 
among  us  and  trespasses  against  our  customs  and 
our  code  of  manners,  we  are  offended,  and  justly  so : 
but  our  Government  commands  our  ambassadors  to 
wear  abroad  an  official  dress  which  is  an  offense 
against  foreign  manners  and  customs ;  and  the  dis 
credit  of  it  falls  upon  the  nation. 


Diplomatic    Pay   and   Clothes  401 

We  did  not  dress  our  public  functionaries  in  un 
distinguished  raiment  before  Franklin's  time;  and 
the  change  would  not  have  come  if  he  had  been  an 
obscurity.  But  he  was  such  a  colossal  figure  in  the 
world  that  whatever  he  did  of  an  unusual  nature 
attracted  the  world's  attention,  and  became  a  pre 
cedent.  In  the  case  of  clothes,  the  next  representa 
tive  after  him,  and  the  next,  had  to  imitate  it.  After 
that,  the  thing  was  custom:  and  custom  is  a  petri 
faction  ;  nothing  but  dynamite  can  dislodge  it  for  a 
century.  We  imagine  that  our  queer  official  cos- 
turnery  was  deliberately  devised  to  symbolize  our  Re 
publican  Simplicity — a  quality  which  we  have  never 
possessed,  and  are  too  old  to  acquire  now,  if  we  had 
any  use  for  it  or  any  leaning  toward  it.  But  it  is 
not  so;  there  was  nothing  deliberate  about  it:  it 
grew  naturally  and  heedlessly  out  of  the  precedent 
set  by  Franklin. 

If  it  had  been  an  intentional  thing,  and  based 
upon  a  principle,  it  would  not  have  stopped  where 
it  did :  we  should  have  applied  it  further.  Instead 
of  clothing  our  admirals  and  generals,  for  courts- 
martial  and  other  public  functions,  in  superb  dress 
uniforms  blazing  with  color  and  gold,  the  Govern 
ment  would  put  them  in  swallow-tails  and  white 
cravats,  and  make  them  look  like  ambassadors  and 
lackeys.  If  I  am  wrong  in  making  Franklin  the 
father  of  our  curious  official  clothes,  it  is  no  matter 
—  he  will  be  able  to  stand  it. 

It  is  my  opinion — and  I  make  no  charge  for  the 


402  The  $30,000   Bequest 

suggestion  —  that,  whenever  we  appoint  an  ambas 
sador  or  a  minister,  we  ought  to  confer  upon  him  the 
temporary  rank  of  admiral  or  general,  and  allow 
him  to  wear  the  corresponding  uniform  at  public 
functions  in  foreign  countries.  I  would  recommend 
this  for  the  reason  that  it  is  not  consonant  with  the 
dignity  of  the  United  States  of  America  that  her 
representative  should  appear  upon  occasions  of  state 
in  a  dress  which  makes  him  glaringly  conspicuous; 
and  that  is  what  his  present  undertaker-outfit  does 
when  it  appears,  with  its  dismal  smudge,  in  the 
midst  of  the  butterfly  splendors  of  a  Continental 
court.  It  is  a  most  trying  position  for  a  shy  man,  a 
modest  man,  a  man  accustomed  to  being  like  other 
people.  He  is  the  most  striking  figure  present; 
there  is  no  hiding  from  the  multitudinous  eyes.  It 
would  be  funny,  if  it  were  not  such  a  cruel  spectacle, 
to  see  the  hunted  creature  in  his  solemn  sables 
scuffling  around  in  that  sea  of  vivid  color,  like  a 
mislaid  Presbyterian  in  perdition.  We  are  all  aware 
that  our  representative's  dress  should  not  compel  too 
much  attention ;  for  anybody  but  an  Indian  chief 
knows  that  that  is  a  vulgarity.  I  arn  saying  these 
things  in  the  interest  of  our  national  pride  and 
dignity.  Our  representative  is  the  flag.  He  is  the 
Republic.  He  is  the  United  States  of  America, 
And  when  these  embodiments  pass  by,  we  do  not 
want  them  scoffed  at;  we  desire  that  people  shall 
be  obliged  to  concede  that  they  are  worthily  clothed, 
and  politely. 


Diplomatic    Pay   and   Clothes  403 

Our  Government  is  oddly  inconsistent  in  this  mat 
ter  of  official  dress.  When  its  representative  is  a 
civilian  who  has  not  been  a  soldier,  it  restricts  him 
to  the  black  swallow-tail  and  white  tie ;  but  if  he  is  a 
civilian  who  has  been  a  soldier,  it  allows  him  to 
wear  the  uniform  of  his  former  rank  as  an  official 
dress.  When  General  Sickles  was  minister  to  Spain, 
he  always  wore,  when  on  official  duty,  the  dress 
uniform  of  a  major-general.  When  General  Grant 
visited  foreign  courts,  he  went  handsomely  and 
properly  ablaze  in  the  uniform  of  a  full  general,  and 
was  introduced  by  diplomatic  survivals  of  his  own 
Presidential  Administration.  The  latter,  by  official 
necessity,  went  in  the  meek  and  lowly  swallow-tail 
—  a  deliciously  sarcastic  contrast:  the  one  dress 
representing  the  honest  and  honorable  dignity  of  the 
nation ;  the  other,  the  cheap  hypocrisy  of  the  Re 
publican  Simplicity  tradition.  In  Paris  our  present 
representative  can  perform  his  official  functions  rep 
utably  clothed;  for  he  was  an  officer  in  the  Civil 
War.  In  London  our  late  ambassador  was  similarly 
situated;  for  he  also  was  an  officer  in  the  Civil 
War.  But  Mr.  Choate  must  represent  the  Great 
Republic  —  even  at  official  breakfast  at  seven  in  the 
morning — in  that  same  old  funny  swallow-tail. 

Our  Government's  notions  about  proprieties  of 
costume  are  indeed  very,  very  odd  —  as  suggested 
by  that  last  fact.  The  swallow-tail  is  recognized  the 
world  over  as  not  wearable  in  the  daytime ;  it  is  a 
night-dress,  and  a  night-dress  only  —  a  night-shirt  is 


404  The   $30,000   Bequest 

not  more  so.  Yet,  when  our  representative  makes 
an  official  visit  in  the  morning,  he  is  obliged  by  his 
Government  to  go  in  that  night-dress.  It  makes  the 
very  cab-horses  laugh. 

The  truth  is,  that  for  a  while  during  the  present 
century,  and  up  to  something  short  of  forty  years 
ago,  we  had  a  lucid  interval,  and  dropped  the 
Republican  Simplicity  sham,  and  dressed  our  foreign 
representatives  in  a  handsome  and  becoming  official 
costume.  This  was  discarded  by  and  by,  and  the 
swallow-tail  substituted.  I  believe  it  is  not  now 
known  which  statesman  brought  about  this  change ; 
but  we  all  know  that,  stupid  as  he  was  as  to  diplo 
matic  proprieties  in  dress,  he  would  not  have  sent  his 
daughter  to  a  state  ball  in  a  corn-shucking  costume, 
nor  to  a  corn-shucking  in  a  state  ball  costume,  to  be 
harshly  criticised  as  an  ill-mannered  offender  against 
the  proprieties  of  custom  in  both  places.  And  we 
know  another  thing,  viz. :  that  he  himself  would  not 
have  wounded  the  tastes  and  feelings  of  a  family  of 
mourners  by  attending  a  funeral  in  theif  house  in  a 
costume  which  was  an  offense  against  the  dignities 
and  decorum  prescribed  by  tradition  and  sanctified 
by  custom.  Yet  that  man  was  so  heedless  as  not  to 
reflect  that  all  the  social  customs  of  civilized  peoples 
are  entitled  to  respectful  observance,  and  that  no 
man  with  a  right  spirit  of  courtesy  in  him  ever  has 
any  disposition  to  transgress  these  customs. 

There  is  still  another  argument  for  a  rational 
diplomatic  dress  —  a  business  argument.  We  are  a 


Diplomatic   Pay   and   Clothes  405 

trading  nation;  and  our  representative  is  our  busi 
ness  agent.  If  he  is  respected,  esteemed,  and  liked 
where  he  is  stationed,  he  can  exercise  an  influence 
which  can  extend  our  trade  and  forward  our  pros 
perity.  A  considerable  number  of  his  business 
activities  have  their  field  in  his  social  relations ;  and 
clothes  which  do  not  offend  against  local  manners 
and  customs  and  prejudices  are  a  valuable  part  of  his 
equipment  in  this  matter  —  would  be,  if  Franklin  had 
died  earlier. 

I  have  not  done  with  gratis  suggestions  yet.  We 
made  a  great  and  valuable  advance  when  we  insti 
tuted  the  office  of  ambassador.  That  lofty  rank 
endows  its  possessor  with  several  times  as  much  in 
fluence,  consideration,  and  effectiveness  as  the  rank 
of  minister  bestows.  For  the  sake  of  the  country's 
dignity  and  for  the  sake  of  her  advantage  commer 
cially,  we  should  have  ambassadors,  not  ministers,  at 
the  great  courts  of  the  world. 

But  not  at  present  salaries !  No ;  if  we  are  to 
maintain  present  salaries,  let  us  make  no  more  am 
bassadors  ;  and  let  us  unmake  those  we  have  already 
made.  The  great  position,  without  the  means  of  re 
spectably  maintaining  it  —  there  could  be  no  wisdom 
in  that.  A  foreign  representative,  to  be  valuable  to 
his  country,  must  be  on  good  terms  with  the  officials 
of  the  capital  and  with  the  rest  of  the  influential  folk. 
He  must  mingle  with  this  society ;  he  cannot  sit  at 
home  —  it  is  not  business,  it  butters  no  commercial 
parsnips.  He  must  attend  the  dinners,  banquets, 


406 


The  $30,000   Bequest 


suppers,  balls,  receptions,  and  must  return  these 
hospitalities.  He  should  return  as  good  as  he  gets, 
too,  for  the  sake  of  the  dignity  of  his  country,  and 
for  the  sake  of  Business.  Have  we  ever  had  a  min 
ister  or  an  ambassador  who  could  do  this  on  his 
salary?  No  —  not  once,  from  Franklin's  time  to 
ours.  Other  countries  understand  the  commercial 
value  of  properly  lining  the  pockets  of  their  repre 
sentatives  ;  but  apparently  our  Government  has  not 
learned  it.  England  is  the  most  successful  trader  of 
the  several  trading  nations ;  and  she  takes  good  care 
of  the  watchmen  who  keep  guard  in  her  commercial 
towers.  It  has  been  a  long  time,  now,  since  we 
needed  to  blush  for  our  representatives  abroad.  It 
has  become  custom  to  send-  our  fittest.  We  send 
men  of  distinction,  cultivation,  character  —  our 
ablest,  our  choicest,  our  best.  Then  we  cripple 
their  efficiency  through  the  meagreness  of  their  pay. 
Here  is  a  list  of  salaries  for  English  and  American 
ministers  and  ambassadors: 


CITY. 

SALARIES. 

AMERICAN. 

ENGLISH. 

Paris            .         •         »         ,         . 

$17,500 

17,50° 
12,000 
10,000 

17,500 
12,000 

$45,000 

40,000 
40,000 
40,000 

39,000 
35,ooo 
32,500 

Berlin          

St.  Petersburg     ..... 

Diplomatic   Pay  and   Clothes  407 

Sir  Julian  Pauncefote,  the  English  ambassador  at 
Washington,  has  a  very  fine  house  besides  —  at  no 
damage  to  his  salary. 

English  ambassadors  pay  no  house-rent ;  they  live 
in  palaces  owned  by  England.  Our  representatives 
pay  house-rent  out  of  their  salaries.  You  can  judge 
by  the  above  figures  what  kind  of  houses  the  United 
States  of  America  has  been  used  to  living  in  abroad, 
and  what  sort  of  return-entertaining  she  has  done. 
There  is  not  a  salary  in  our  list  which  would  properly 
house  the  representative  receiving  it,  and,  in  addi 
tion,  pay  $3,000  toward  his  family's  bacon  and 
doughnuts  —  the  strange  but  economical  and  custom 
ary  fare  of  the  American  ambassador's  household, 
except  on  Sundays,  when  petrified  Boston  crackers 
are  added. 

The  ambassadors  and  ministers  of  foreign  nations 
not  only  have  generous  salaries,  but  their  Govern 
ments  provide  them  with  money  wherewith  to  pay  a 
considerable  part  of  their  hospitality  bills.  I  believe 
our  Government  pays  no  hospitality  bills  except  those 
incurred  by  the  navy.  Through  this  concession  to 
the  navy,  that  arm  is  able  to  do  us  credit  in  foreign 
parts;  and  certainly  that  is  well  and  politic.  But 
why  the  Government  does  not  think  it  well  and  poli 
tic  that  our  diplomats  should  be  able  to  do  us  like 
credit  abroad  is  one  of  those  mysterious  inconsist 
encies  which  have  been  puzzling  me  ever  since  I 
stopped  trying  to  understand  baseball  and  took  up 
statesmanship  as  a  pastime. 


408  The   $30,000   Bequest 

To  return  to  the  matter  of  house-rent.  Good 
houses,  properly  furnished,  in  European  capitals,  are 
not  to  be  had  at  small  figures.  Consequently,  our 
foreign  representatives  have  been  accustomed  to  live 
in  garrets  —  sometimes  on  the  roof.  Being  poor 
men,  it  has  been  the  best  they  could  do  on  the  salary 
which  the  Government  has  paid  them.  How  could 
they  adequately  return  the  hospitalities  shown  them? 
It  was  impossible.  It  would  have  exhausted  the 
salary  in  three  months.  Still,  it  was  their  official 
duty  to  entertain  the  influentials  after  some  sort  of 
fashion ;  and  they  did  the  best  they  could  with  their 
limited  purse.  In  return  for  champagne  they  fur 
nished  lemonade ;  in  return  for  game  they  furnished 
ham ;  in  return  for  whale  they  furnished  sardines ;  in 
return  for  liquors  they  furnished  condensed  milk; 
in  return  for  the  battalion  of  liveried  and  powdered 
flunkeys  they  furnished  the  hired  girl;  in  return  for 
the  fairy  wilderness  of  sumptuous  decorations  they 
draped  the  stove  with  the  American  flag;  in  return 
for  the  orchestra  they  furnished  zither  and  ballads 
by  the  family;  in  return  for  the  ball  —  but  they 
didn't  return  the  ball,  except  in  cases  where  the 
United  States  lived  on  the  roof  and  had  room. 

Is  this  an  exaggeration?  It  can  hardly  be  called 
that.  I  saw  nearly  the  equivalent  of  it  once,  a  good 
many  years  ago.  A  minister  was  trying  to  create 
influential  friends  for  a  project  which  might  be  worth 
ten  millions  a  year  to  the  agriculturists  of  the  Re 
public;  and  our  Government  had  furnished  him  ham 


Diplomatic    Pay   and    Clothes  409 

and  lemonade  to  persuade  the  opposition  with. 
The  minister  did  not  succeed.  He  might  not  have 
succeeded  if  his  salary  had  been  what  it  ought  to 
have  been  —  $50,000  or  $60,000  a  year  —  but  his 
chances  would  have  been  very  greatly  improved. 
And  in  any  case,  he  and  his  dinners  and  his  country 
would  not  have  been  joked  about  by  the  hard-hearted 
and  pitied  by  the  compassionate. 

Any  experienced  "drummer"  will  testify  that, 
when  you  want  to  do  business,  there  is  no  economy 
in  ham  and  lemonade.  The  drummer  takes  his 
country  customer  to  the  theatre,  the  opera,  the 
circus;  dines  him,  wines  him,  entertains  him  all  the 
day  and  all  the  night  in  luxurious  style ;  and  plays 
upon  his  human  nature  in  all  seductive  ways.  For  he 
knows,  by  old  experience,  that  this  is  the  best  way 
to  get  a  profitable  order  out  of  him.  He  has  his 
reward.  All  Governments  except  our  own  play  the 
same  policy,  with  the  same  end  in  view;  and  they 
also  have  their  reward.  But  ours  refuses  to  do 
business  by  business  ways,  and  sticks  to  ham  and 
lemonade.  This  is  the  most  expensive  diet  known 
to  the  diplomatic  service  of  the  world. 

Ours  is  the  only  country  of  first  importance  that 
pays  its  foreign  representatives  trifling  salaries.  If 
we  were  poor,  we  could  not  find  great  fault  with 
these  economies,  perhaps  —  at  least  one  could  find  a 
sort  of  plausible  excuse  for  them.  But  we  are  not 
poor;  and  the  excuse  fails.  As  shown  above,  some 

of  our  important  diplomatic  representatives  receive 
27 


4io  The   $30,000   Bequest 

$12,000;  others  $17,500.  These  salaries  are  all  ham 
and  lemonade,  and  unworthy  of  the  flag.  When  we 
have  a  rich  ambassador  in  London  or  Paris,  he  lives 
as  the  ambassador  of  a  country  like  ours  ought  to 
live,  and  it  costs  him  $100,000  a  year  to  do  it.  But 
why  should  we  allow  him  to  pay  that  out  of  his 
private  pocket?  There  is  nothing  fair  about  it;  and 
the  Republic  is  no  proper  subject  for  any  one's 
charity.  In  several  cases  our  salaries  of  $12,000 
should  be  $50,000;  and  all  of  the  salaries  of  $17,- 
500  ought  to  be  $75,000  or  $100,000,  since  we  pay 
no  representative's  house-rent.  Our  State  Depart 
ment  realizes  the  mistake  which  we  are  making,  and 
would  like  to  rectify  it,  but  it  has  not  the  power. 

When  a  young  girl  reaches  eighteen  she  is  recog 
nized  as  being  a  woman.  She  adds  six  inches  to  her 
skirt,  she  unplaits  her  dangling  braids  and  balls  her 
hair  on  top  of  her  head,  she  stops  sleeping  with  her 
little  sister  and  has  a  room  to  herself,  and  becomes 
in  many  ways  a  thundering  expense.  But  she  is  in 
society  now ;  and  papa  has  to  stand  it.  There  is  no 
avoiding  it.  Very  well.  The  Great  Republic  length 
ened  her  skirts  last  year,  balled  up  her  hair,  and 
entered  the  world's  society.  This  means  that,  if 
she  would  prosper  and  stand  fair  with  society,  she 
must  put  aside  some  of  her  dearest  and  darlingest 
young  ways  and  superstitions,  and  do  as  society 
does.  Of  course,  she  can  decline  if  she  wants  to ; 
but  this  would  be  unwise.  She  ought  to  realize, 
now  that  she  has  "come  out,"  that  this  is  a  right 


Diplomatic   Pay   and   Clothes  411 

and  proper  time  to  change  a  part  of  her  style.  She 
is  in  Rome ;  and  it  has  long  been  granted  that  when 
one  is  in  Rome  it  is  good  policy  to  do  as  Rome 
does.  To  advantage  Rome?  No  —  to  advantage 
herself. 

If  our  Government  has  really  paid  representatives 
of  ours  on  the  Paris  Commission  $100,000  apiece 
for  six  weeks'  work,  I  feel  sure  that  it  is  the  best 
cash  investment  the  nation  has  made  in  many  years. 
For  it  seems  quite  impossible  that,  with  that  pre 
cedent  on  the  books,  the  Government  will  be  able  to 
find  excuses  for  continuing  its  diplomatic  salaries  at 
the  present  mean  figure. 

P.  S. —  VIENNA,  January  10. —  I  see,  by  this 
morning's  telegraphic  news,  that  I  am  not  to  be  the 
new  ambassador  here,  after  all.  This  —  well,  I 
hardly  know  what  to  say.  I  —  well,  of  course,  I  do 
not  care  anything  about  it ;  but  it  is  at  least  a  sur 
prise.  I  have  for  many  months  been  using  my  in 
fluence  at  Washington  to  get  this  diplomatic  see 
expanded  into  an  ambassadorship,  with  the  idea,  of 
course,  th —  But  never  mind.  Let  it  go.  It  is  of 
no  consequence.  I  say  it  calmly;  for  I  am  calm. 
But  at  the  same  time  —  However,  the  subject  has 
no  interest  for  me,  and  never  had.  I  never  really 
intended  to  take  the  place,  anyway  —  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  it  months  and  months  ago,  nearly  a  year. 
But  now,  while  I  am  calm,  I  would  like  to  say  this  — 
that  so  long  as  I  shall  continue  to  possess  an  Ameri 
can's  proper  pride  in  the  honor  and  dignity  of  his 


412  The  $30,000   Bequest 

country,  I  will  not  take  any  ambassadorship  in  the 
gift  of  the  flag  at  a  salary  short  of  $75,000  a  year. 
If  I  shall  be  charged  with  wanting  to  live  beyond  my 
country's  means,  I  cannot  help  it.  A  country  which 
cannot  afford  ambassador's  wages  should  be  ashamed 
to  have  ambassadors. 

Think  of  a  Seventeen-thousand-five-hundred-dollar 
ambassador!  Particularly  for  America.  Why,  it  is 
the  most  ludicrous  spectacle,  the  most  inconsistent  and 
incongruous  spectacle,  contrivable  by  even  the  most 
diseased  imagination.  It  is  a  billionaire  in  a  paper 
collar,  a  king  in  a  breechclout,  an  archangel  in  a  tin 
halo.  And,  for  pure  sham  and  hypocrisy,  the  salary 
is  just  the  match  of  the  ambassador's  official  clothes 
—  that  boastful  advertisement  of  a  Republican  Sim 
plicity  which  manifests  itself  at  home  in  Fifty-thou 
sand-dollar  salaries  to  insurance  presidents  and  rail 
way  lawyers,  and  in  domestic  palaces  whose  fittings 
and  furnishings  often  transcend  in  costly  display  and 
splendor  and  richness  the  fittings  and  furnishings  of 
the  palaces  of  the  sceptred  masters  of  Europe ;  and 
which  has  invented  and  exported  to  the  Old  World 
the  palace-car,  the  sleeping-car,  the  tram-car,  the 
electric  trolley,  the  best  bicycles,  the  best  motor 
cars,  the  steam-heater,  the  best  and  smartest  systems 
of  electric  calls  and  telephonic  aids  to  laziness  and 
comfort,  the  elevator,  the  private  bath-room  (hot 
and  cold  water  on  tap),  the  palace-hotel,  with  its 
multifarious  conveniences,  comforts,  shows,  and 
luxuries,  the  —  oh,  the  list  is  interminable!  In  a 


Diplomatic    Pay   and   Clothes  413 

word,  Republican  Simplicity  found  Europe  with  one 
shirt  on  her  back,  so  to  speak,  as  far  as  real  luxuries, 
conveniences,  and  the  comforts  of  life  go,  and  has 
clothed  her  to  the  chin  with  the  latter.  We  are  the 
lavishest  and  showiest  and  most  luxury-loving  peo 
ple  on  the  earth ;  and  at  our  masthead  we  fly  one 
true  and  honest  symbol,  the  gaudiest  flag  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  Oh,  Republican  Simplicity,  there 
are  many,  many  humbugs  in  the  world,  but  none  to 
which  you  need  take  off  your  hat  1 


EXTRACTS  FROM  ADAM'S  DIARY 

MONDAY.-— This  new  creature  with  the  long  hair 
is  a  good  deal  in  the  way.  It  is  always  hang 
ing  around  and  following  me  about.  I  don't  like 
this ;  I  am  not  used  to  company.  I  wish  it  would 
stay  with  the  other  animals.  .  .  .  Cloudy  to-day, 
wind  in  the  east;  think  we  shall  have  rain.  .  .  . 
We  f  Where  did  I  get  that  word?  —  I  remember 
now  —  the  new  creature  uses  it. 

TUESDAY. —  Been  examining  the  great  waterfall. 
It  is  the  finest  thing  on  the  estate,  I  think.  The 
new  creature  calls  it  Niagara  Falls  —  why,  I  am  sure 
I  do  not  know.  Says  it  looks  like  Niagara  Falls. 
That  is  not  a  reason,  it  is  mere  waywardness  and 
imbecility.  I  get  no  chance  to  name  anything  my 
self.  The  new  creature  names  everything  that  comes 
along,  before  I  can  get  in  a  protest.  And  always 
that  same  pretext  is  offered  —  it  looks  like  the  thing. 
There  is  the  dodo,  for  instance.  Says  the  moment 
one  looks  at  it  one  sees  at  a  glance  that  it  "  looks 
like  a  dodo."  It  will  have  to  keep  that  name,  no 
doubt.  It  wearies  me  to  fret  about  it,  and  it  does 
no  good,  anyway.  Dodo  !  It  looks  no  more  like  a 
dodo  than  I  do. 

WEDNESDAY. —  Built  me  a  shelter  against  the  rain, 


Extracts   from   Adam's   Diary  41 5 

but  could  not  have  it  to  myself  in  peace.  The  new 
creature  intruded.  When  I  tried  to  put  it  out  it  shed 
water  out  of  the  holes  it  looks  with,  and  wiped  it 
away  with  the  back  of  its  paws,  and  made  a  noise 
such  as  some  of  the  other  animals  make  when  they 
are  in  distress.  I  wish  it  would  not  talk;  it  is 
always  talking.  That  sounds  like  a  cheap  fling  at 
the  poor  creature,  a  slur ;  but  I  do  not  mean  it  so. 
I  have  never  heard  the  human  voice  before,  and  any 
new  and  strange  sound  intruding  itself  here  upon  the 
solemn  hush  of  these  dreaming  solitudes  offends  my 
ear  and  seems  a  false  note.  And  this  new  sound  is  so 
close  to  me ;  it  is  right  at  my  shoulder,  right  at  my  ear, 
first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  and  I  am  used 
only  to  sounds  that  are  more  or  less  distant  from  me. 
FRIDAY. —  The  naming  goes  recklessly  on,  in 
spite  of  anything  I  can  do.  I  had  a  very  good 
name  for  the  estate,  and  it  was  musical  and  pretty 
—  GARDEN  OF  EDEN.  Privately,  I  continue  to  call 
it  that,  but  not  any  longer  publicly.  The  new 
creature  says  it  is  all  woods  and  rocks  and  scenery^ 
and  therefore  has  no  resemblance  to  a  garden. 
Says  it  looks  like  a  park,  and  does  not  look  like 
anything  but  a  park.  Consequently,  without  con 
sulting  me,  it  has  been  new-named- — NIAGARA 
FALLS  PARK.  This  is  sufficiently  high-handed,  it 
seems  to  me.  And  already  there  is  a  sign  up: 

KEEP  OFF 
THE  GRASS 

My  life  is  not  as  happy  as  it  was. 


416  The   $30,000    Bequest 

SATURDAY. —  The  new  creature  eats  too  much 
fruit.  We  are  going  to  run  short,  most  likely. 
14  We"  again — -that  is  its  word;  mine,  too,  now, 
from  hearing  it  so  much.  Good  deal  of  fog  this 
morning.  I  do  not  go  out  in  the  fog  myself,  The 
new  creature  does..  It  goes  out  in  all  weathers,  and 
stumps  right  in  with  its  muddy  feet.  And  talks.  It 
used  to  be  so  pleasant  and  ^quiet  here. 

SUNDAY. —  Pulled  through.  This  day  is  getting 
to  be  more  and  more  trying.  It  was  selected  and 
set  apart  last  November  as  a  day  of  rest.  I  had 
already  six  of  them  per  week  before.  This  morning 
found  the  new  creature  trying  to  clod  applfes  out  of 
that  forbidden  tree. 

MONDAY. —  The  new  creature  says  its  name  is 
Eve.  That  is  all  right,  I  have  no  objections.  Says 
it  is  to  call  it  by,  when  I  want  it  to  come.  I  said  it 
was  superfluous,  then.  The  word  evidently  raised 
me  in  its  respect;  and  indeed  it  is  a  large,  good 
word  and  will  bear  repetition.  It  says  it  is  not  an 
It,  it  is  a  She.  This  is  probably  doubtful ;  yet  it  is 
all  one  to  me ;  what  she  is  were  nothing  to  me  if  she 
would  but  go  by  herself  and  not  talk. 

TUESDAY.— She  has  littered  the  whole  estate  with 
execrable  names  and  offensive  signs : 

THIS  WAY  TO  THE  WHIRLPOOL. 

THIS  WAY  TO  GOAT  ISLAND. 
CAVE  OF  THE  WINDS  THIS  WAY. 

She  says  this  park  would  make  a  tidy  summer 
resort  if  there  was  any  custom  for  it.  Summer 


"WRITING  HIS  DIARY" 


Extracts   from   Adam's   Diary  417 

resort  —  another  invention  of  hers  —  just  words, 
without  any  meaning.  What  is  a  summer  resort? 
But  it  is  best  not  to  ask  her,  she  has  such  a  rage  for 
explaining. 

FRIDAY. —  She  has  taken  to  beseeching  me  to  stop 
going  over  the  Falls.  What  harm  does  it  do? 
Says  it  makes  her  shudder.  I  wonder  why;  1 
have  always  done  it — always  liked  the  plunge,  and 
the  excitement  and  the  coolness.  I  supposed  it  was 
what  the  Falls  were  for.  They  have  no  other  use 
that  I  can  see,  and  they  must  have  been  made  for 
something.  She  says  they  were  only  made  for 
scenery  — like  the  rhinoceros  and  the  mastodon. 

I  went  over  the  Falls  in  a  barrel  —  not  satisfactory 
to  her.  Went  over  in  a  tub  —  still  not  satisfactory. 
Swam  the  Whirlpool  and  the  Rapids  in  a  fig-leaf 
suit.  It  got  much  damaged.  Hence,  tedious  com 
plaints  about  my  extravagance.  I  am  too  much 
hampered  here.  What  I  need  is  change  of  scene. 

SATURDAY. —  I  escaped  last  Tuesday  night,  and 
traveled  two  days,  and  built  me  another  shelter  in  a 
secluded  place,  and  obliterated  my  tracks  as  well  as  I 
could,  but  she  hunted  me  out  by  means  of  a  beast 
which  she  has  tamed  and  calls  a  wolf,  and  came 
making  that  pitiful  noise  again,  and  shedding  that 
water  out  of  the  places  she  looks  with.  I  was 
obliged  to  return  with  her,  but  will  presently  emi 
grate  again  when  occasion  offers.  She  engages  her 
self  in  many  foolish  things;  among  others,  to  study 
out  why  the  animals  called  lions  and  tigers  live  on 


418  The   $30,000   Bequest 

grass  and  flowers,  when,  as  she  says,  the  sort  of  teeth 
they  wear  would  indicate  that  they  were  intended  to 
eat  each  other.  This  is  foolish,  because  to  do  that 
would  be  to  kill  each  other,  and  that  would  introduce 
what,  as  I  understand  it,  is  called  "  death";  and 
death,  as  I  have  been  told,  has  not  yet  entered  the 
Park.  Which  is  a  pity,  on  some  accounts. 

SUNDAY. —  Pulled  through. 

MONDAY. —  I  believe  I  see  what  the  week  is  for : 
it  is  to  give  time  to  rest  up  from  the  weariness  of 
Sunday.  It  seems  a  good  idea.  .  .  .  She  has  been 
climbing  that  tree  again.  Clodded  her  out  of  it. 
She  said  nobody  was  looking.  Seems  to  consider 
that  a  sufficient  justification  for  chancing  any 
dangerous  thing.  Told  her  that.  The  word  justi 
fication  moved  her  admiration  —  and  envy,  too,  I 
thought.  It  is  a  good  word, 

TUESDAY.—  She  told  me  she  was  made  out  of  a 
rib  taken  from  my  body.  This  is  at  least  doubtful, 
if  not  more  than  that.  I  have  not  missed  any  rib. 
.  .  .  She  is  in  much  trouble  about  the  buzzard ; 
says  grass  does  not  agree  with  it;  is  afraid  she  can't 
raise  it;  thinks  it  was  intended  to  live  on  decayed 
flesh.  The  buzzard  must  get  along  the  best  it  can 
with  what  it  is  provided.  We  cannot  overturn  the 
whole  scheme  to  accommodate  the  buzzard*. 

SATURDAY. —  She  fell  in  the  pond  yesterday  when 
she  was  looking  at  herself  in  it,  which  she  is  always 
doing.  She  nearly  strangled,  and  said  it  was  most 
uncomfortable.  This  made  her  sorry  for  the  crea- 


Extracts   from   Adam's  Diary  419 

tures  which  live  in  there,  which  she  calls  fish,  for 
she  continues  to  fasten  names  on  to  things  that  don't 
need  therrLand  don't  come  when  they  are  called  by 
them,  which  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence  to  her, 
she  is  such  a  numskull,  anyway;  so  she  got  a  lot  of 
them  out  and  brought  them  in  last  night  and  put 
them  in  my  bed  to  keep  warm,  but  I  have  noticed 
them  now  and  then  all  day  and  I  don't  see  that  they 
are  any  happier  there  than  they  were  before,  only 
quieter.  When  night  comes  I  shall  throw  them 
outdoors.  I  will  not  sleep  with  them  again,  for  I 
find  them  clammy  and  unpleasant  to  lie  amongj  when 
a  person  hasn't  anything  on. 

SUNDAY. —  Pulled  through. 

TUESDAY. — •  She  has  taken  up  with  a  snake  now. 
The  other  animals  are  glad,  for  she  was  always  ex 
perimenting  with  them  and  bothering  them;  and  I 
am  glad  because  the  snake  talks,  and  this  enables  me 
to  get  a  rest. 

FRIDAY. —  She  says  the  snake  advises  her  to  try 
the  fruit  of  that  tree,  and  says  the  result  will  be  a 
great  and  fine  and  noble  education.  I  told  her  there 
would  be  another  result,  too  —  it  would  introduce 
death  into  the  world.  That  was  a  mistake  —  it  had 
been  better  to  keep  the  remark  to  myself;  it  only 
gave  her  an  idea  —  she  could  save  the  sick  buzzard, 
and  furnish  fresh  meat  to  the  despondent  lions  and 
tigers.  I  advised  her  to  keep  away  from  the  tree. 
She  said  she  wouldn't.  I  foresee  trouble.  Will 
emigrate. 


420  The   $30,000   Bequest 

WEDNESDAY. —  I  have,  had  a  variegated  time.  I 
escaped  last  night,  and  rode  a  horse  all  night  as  fast 
as  he  could  go,  hoping  to  get  clear  out  of  the  Park 
and  hide  in  some  ether  country  before  the  trouble 
should  begin;  but  it  was  not  to  be.  About  an  hour 
after  sun-up,  as  I  was  riding  through  a  flowery  plain 
where  thousands  of  animals  were  grazing,  slumber 
ing,  or  playing  with  each  other,  according  to  their 
wont,  all  of  a  sudden  they  broke  into  a  tempest  of 
frightful  noises,  and  in  one  moment  the  plain  was  a 
frantic  commotion  and  every  beast  was  destroying 
its  neighbor.  I  knew  what  it  meant  —  Eve  had 
eaten  that  fruit,  and  death  was  come  into  the  world. 
.  .  .  The  tigers  ate  my  horse,  paying  no  attention 
when  I  ordered  them  to  desist,  and  they  would  have 
eaten  me  if  I  had  stayed  —  which  I  didn't,  but  went 
away  in  much  haste.  ...  I  formal  ''Ms  place,  out 
side  the  "Park,'  and  was  fairly  comfortable  for  a  few 
days,  but  she  has  found  me  out.  Found  me  out, 
and  has  named  the  place  Tonawanda  —  says  it  looks 
like  that.  In  fact  I  was  not  sorry  she  came,  for 
there  are  but  meagre  pickings  here,  and^she  brought 
some  of  those  apples.  I  was  obliged  to  eat  them,  I 
was  so  hungry.  It  was  against  my  principles,  but  I 
find  that  principles  have  no  real  force  except  when 
one  is  well  fed.  .  .  .  She  came  curtained  in  boughs 
and  bunches  of  leaves,  and  when  I  asked  her  what 
she  meant  by  such  nonsense,  and  snatched  them 
away  and  threw  them  down,  she  tittered  and 
blushed.  I  had  never  seen  a  person  titter  and  blush 


Extracts  from   Adam's  Diary  421 

before,  and  to  me  it  seemed  unbecoming  and  idiotic. 
She  said  I  would  soon  know  how  it  was  myself. 
This  was  correct.  Hungry  as  I  was,  I  laid  down 
the  apple  half-eaten  —  certainly  the  best  one  I  ever 
saw,  considering  the  lateness  of  the  season  — and 
arrayed  myself  in  the  discarded  boughs  and 
branches,  and  then  spoke  to  her  with  some  severity 
and  ordered  her  to  go  and  get  some  more  and  not 
make  such  a  spectacle  of  herself.  She  did  it,  and 
after  this  we  crept  down  to  where  the  wild-beast 
battle  had  been,  and  collected  some  skins,  and  I 
made  her  patch  together  a  couple  of  suits  proper  for 
public  occasions.  They  are  uncomfortable,  it  is 
true,  but  stylish,  and  that  is  the  main  point  about 
clothes.  ...  I  find  she  is  a  good  deal  of  a  com 
panion.  I  see  I  should  be  lonesome  and  depressed 
without  her,  now  that  I  have  lost  my  property. 
Another  thing,  she  says  it  is  ordered  that  we  work 
for  our  living  hereafter.  She  will  be  useful.  I  will 
superintend. 

TEN  DAYS  LATER. —  She  accuses  me  of  being  the 
cause  of  our  disaster!  She  says,  with  apparent 
sincerity  and  truth,  that  the  Serpent  assured  her  that 
the  forbidden  fruit  was  not  apples,  it  was  chestnuts. 
I  said  I  was  innocent,  then,  for  I  had  not  eaten  any 
chestnuts.  She  said  the  Serpent  informed  her  that 
"  chestnut"  was  a  figurative  term  meaning  an  aged 
and  mouldy  joke.  I  turned  pale  at  that,  for  I  have 
made  many  jokes  to  pass  the  weary  time,  and  some 
of  them  could  have  been  of  that  sort,  though  I  had 


422  The  $30,000   Bequest 

honestly  supposed  that  they  were  new  when  I  made 
them.  She  asked  me  if  I  had  made  one  just  at  the 
time  of  the  catastrophe.  I  was  obliged  to  admit  that 
I  had  made  one  to  myself,  though  not  aloud.  It 
was  this.  I  was  thinking  about  the  Falls,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  "How  wonderful  it  is  to  see  that  vast 
body  of  water  tumble  down  there !  ' '  Then  in  an 
instant  a  bright  thought  flashed  into  my  head,  and  I 
let  it  fly,  saying,  "  It  would  be  a  deal  more  wonderful 
to  see  it  tumble  up  there  !  "  —  and  I  was  just  about 
to  kill  myself  with  laughing  at  it  when  all  nature 
broke  loose  in  war  and  death  and  I  had  to  flee  for 
my  life.  "There,"  she  said,  with  triumph,  "that 
is  just  it ;  the  Serpent  mentioned  that  very  jest,  and 
called  it  the  First  Chestnut,  and  said  it  was  coeval 
with  the  creation."  Alas,  I  am  indeed  to  blame. 
Would  that  I  were  not  witty ;  oh,  that  I  had  never 
had  that  radiant  thought ! 

NEXT  YEAR. —  We  have  named  it  Cain.  She 
caught  it  while  I  was  up  country  trapping  on  the 
North  Shore  of  the  Erie ;  caught  it  in  the  timber  a 
couple  of  miles  from  our  dug-out  —  or  it  might  have 
been  four,  she  isn't  certain  which.  It  resembles  us 
in  some  ways,  and  may  be  a  relation.  That  is  what 
she  thinks,  but  this  is  an  error,  in  my  judgment. 
The  difference  in  size  warrants  the  conclusion  that 
it  is  a  different  and  new  kind  of  animal  —  a  fish,  per 
haps,  though  when  I  put  it  in  the  water  to  see,  it 
sank,  and  she  plunged  in  and  snatched  it  out  before 
there  was  opportunity  for  the  experiment  to  deter- 


Extracts  from   Adam's   Diary  423 

mine  the  matter.  I  still  think  it  is  a  fish,  but  she  is 
indifferent  about  what  it  is,  and  will  not  let  me  have 
it  to  try.  I  do  not  understand  this.  The  coming 
of  the  creature  seems  to  have  changed  her  whole 
nature  and  made  her  unreasonable  about  experi 
ments.  She  thinks  more  of  it  than  she  does  of  any 
of  the  other  animals,  but  is  not  able  to  explain  why. 
Her  mind  is  disordered  —  everything  shows  it. 
Sometimes  she  carries  the  fish  in  her,  arms  half  the 
night  when  it  complains  and  wants  to  get  to  the 
water.  At  sucty  times  the  water  comes  out  of  the 
places  in  her  fade  that  she  looks  out  of,  and  she  pats 
the  fish  on  the  tack  and  makes  soft  sounds  with  her 
mouth  to  sooths  it,  and  betrays  sorrow  and  solicitude 
in  a  hundred  wkys.  I  have  never  seen  her  do  like 
this  with  any  other  fish,  and  it  troubles  me  greatly. 
She  used  to  carry  the  young  | tigers  around  so,  and 
play  with  them^  before  we  lost  our  property,  but  it 
was  only  play;1  she  never  took  on  about  them  like 
this  when  their  ;dinner  disagreed  with  them. 

SUNDAY. —  She  doesn't  work,  Sundays,  but  lies 
around  all  tired  out,  and  likes  to  have  the  fish  wallow 
over  her;  and]  she  makes  fool  noises  to  amuse  it, 
and  pretends  to  chew  its  paws,  and  that  makes  it 
laugh.  I  have  not  seen  a  fish  before  that  could 
laugh.  This  makes  me  doubt.  ...  I  have  come 
to  like  Sunday  myself.  Superintending  all  the  week 
tires  a  body  so.  There  ought  to  be  more  Sundays. 
In  the  old  days  4h^3r~werirTc^^^ 
come^hahdy. 


424  The   $30,000   Bequest 

WEDNESDAY. —  It  isn't  a  fish.  I  cannot  quite 
make  out  what  it  is.  It  makes  curious  devilish 
noises  when  not  satisfied,  and  says  "goo-goo" 
when  it  is.  It  is  not  one  of  us,  for  it  doesn't  walk; 
it  is  not  a  bird,  for  it  doesn't  fly;  it  is  not  a  frog, 
for  it  doesn't  hop;  it  is  not  a  snake,  for  it  doesn't 
crawl;  I  feel  sure  it  is  not  a  fish,,  though  I  cannot 
get  a  chance  to  find  out  whether  it  can  swim  or  not. 
It  merely  lies  around,  and  mostly  on  its  back,  with 
its  feet  up.  I  have  not  seen  any  other  animal  do 
that  before.  I  said  I  believed  it  was  an  enigma;  but 
she  only  admired  the  word  without  understanding  it. 
In  my  judgment  it  is  either  an  enigma  or  some  kind 
of  a  bug.  If  it  dies,  I  will  take  it  apart  and  see  what 
its  arrangements  are.  I  never  had  a  thing  perplex 
me  so. 

THREE  MONTHS  LATER.— The  perplexity  aug 
ments  instead  of  diminishing.  I  sleep  but  little.  It 
has  ceased  from  lying  around,  and  goes  about  on  its 
four  legs  now.  Yet  it  differs  from  the  other  four- 
legged  animals,  in  that  its  front  legs  are  unusually 
short,  consequently  this  causes  the  main  part  of  its 
person  to  stick  up  uncomfortably  high  in  the  air,  and 
this  is  not  attractive.  It  is  built  much  as  we  are, 
but  its  method  of  traveling  shows  that  it  is  not  of 
our  breed.  The  short  front  legs  and  long  hind  ones 
indicate  that  it  is  of  the  kangaroo  family,  but  it  is  a 
marked  variation  of  the  species,  since  the  true  kan 
garoo  hops,  whereas  this  one  never  does.  Still  it  is 
a  curious  and  interesting  variety,  and  has  not  been 


Extracts   from   Adam's   Diary  425 

catalogued  before.  As  I  discovered  it,  I  have  felt 
justified  in  securing  the  credit  of  the  discovery  by 
attaching  my  name  to  it,  and  hence  have  called  it 
Kangaroorum  Adamiensis.  ...  It  must  have  been 
a  young  one  when  it  came,  for  it  has  grown  exceed 
ingly  since.  It  must  be  five  times  as  big,  now,  as  it 
was  then,  and  when  discontented  it  is  able  to  make 
from  twenty-two  to  thirty-eight  times  the  noise  it 
made  at  first.  Coercion  does  not  modify  this,  but 
has  the  contrary  effect.  For  this  reason  I  discon 
tinued  the  system.  She  reconciles  it  by  persuasion, 
and  by  giving  it  things  which  she  had  previously  told 
it  she  wouldn't  give  it.  As  already  observed,  I  was 
not  at  home  when  it  first  came,  and  she  told  me  she 
found  it  in  the  woods.  It  seems  odd  that  it  should 
be  the  only  one,  yet  it  must  be  so,  for  I  have  worn 
myself  out  these  many  weeks  trying  to  find  another 
one  to  add  to  my  collection,  and  for  this  one  to  play 
with;  for  surely  then  it  would  be  quieter  and  we 
could  tame  it  more  easily.  But  I  find  none,  nor  any 
vestige  of  any;  and  strangest  of  all,  no  tracks.  It 
has  to  live  on  the  ground,  it  cannot  help  itself; 
therefore,  how  does  it  get  about  without  leaving  a 
track?  I  have  set  a  dozen  traps,  but  they  do  no 
good.  I  catch  all  small  animals  except  that  one; 
animals  that  merely  go  into  the  trap  out  of  curiosity, 
I  think,  to  see  what  the  milk  is  there  for.  They 
never  drink  it. 
THREE  MONTHS  LATER. —  The  Kangaroo  still 

continues  to  grow,  which  is  very  strange  and  per- 
28 


426  The   $30,000   Bequest 

plexing.  I  never  knew  one  to  be  so  long  getting  its 
growth.  It  has  fur  on  its  head  now;  not  like 
kangaroo  fur,  but  exactly  like  our  hair  except  that 
it  is  much  finer  and  softer,  and  instead  of  being 
black  is  red.  I  am  like  to  lose  my  mind  over  the 
capricious  and  harassing  developments  of  this  un- 
classifiable  zoological  freak.  If  I  could  catch 
another  one  —  but  that  is  hopeless;  it  is  a  new 
variety,  and  the  only  sample;  this  is  plain.  But  I 
caught  a  true  kangaroo  and  brought  it  in,  thinking 
that  this  one,  being  lonesome,  would  rather  have 
that  for  company  than  have  no  kin  at  all,  or  any 
animal  it  could  feel  a  nearness  to  or  get  sympathy 
from  in  its  forlorn  condition  here  among  strangers 
who  do  not  know  its  ways  or  habits,  or  what  to  do 
to  make  it  feel  that  it  is  among  friends ;  but  it  was 
a  mistake  —  it  went  into  such  fits  at  the  sight  of  the 
kangaroo  that  I  was  convinced  it  had  never  seen  one 
before,  I  pity  the  poor  noisy  little  animal,  but  there 
is  nothing  I  can  do  to  make  it  happy.  If  I  could 
tame  it — but  that  is  out  of  the  question;  the  more 
I  try  the  worse  I  seem  to  make  it.  It  grieves  me  to 
the  heart  to  see  it  in  its  little  storms  of  sorrow  and 
passion.  I  wanted  to  let  it  go,  but  she  wouldn't 
hear  of  it.  That  seemed  cruel  and  not  like  her;  and 
yet  she  may  be  right.  It  might  be  lonelier  than 
ever;  for  since  I  cannot  find  another  one,  how  could 
it? 

FIVE  MONTHS  LATER. —  It   is   not  a  kangaroo. 
No,  for  it  supports  itself  by  holding  to  her  finger, 


Extracts   from   Adam's  Diary  427 

and  thus  goes  a  few  steps  on  its  hind  legs,  and  then 
falls  down.  It  is  probably  some  kind  of  a  bear; 
and  yet  it  has  no  tail  —  as  yet  —  and  no  fur,  except 
on  its  head.  It  still  keeps  on  growing  —  that  is  a 
curious  circumstance,  for  bears  get  their  growth 
earlier  than  this.  Bears  are  dangerous  —  since  our 
catastrophe  —  and  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  to  have  this 
one  prowling  about  the  place  much  longer  without  a 
muzzle  on.  I  have  offered  to  get  her  a  kangaroo  if 
she  would  let  this  one  go,  but  it  did  no  good  —  she 
is  determined  to  run  us  into  all  sorts  of  foolish  risks, 
I  think.  She  was  not  like  this  before  she  lost  her 
mind. 

A  FORTNIGHT  LATER. —  I  examined  its  mouth. 
There  is  no  danger  yet:  it  has  only  one  tooth.  It 
has  no  tail  yet.  It  makes  more  noise  now  than  it 
ever  did  before  —  and  mainly  at  night.  I  have 
moved  out.  But  I  shall  go  over,  mornings,  to 
breakfast,  and  see  if  it  has  more  teeth.  If  it  gets  a 
mouthful  of  teeth  it  will  be  time  for  it  to  go,  tail  or 
no  tail,  for  a  bear  does  not  need  a  tail  in  order  to  be 
dangerous. 

FOUR  MONTHS  LATER.—  I  have  been  off  hunting 
and  fishing  a  month,  up  in  the  region  that  she  calls 
Buffalo;  I  don't  know  why,  unless  it  is  because  there 
are  not  any  buffaloes  there.  Meantime  the  bear  has 
learned  to  paddle  around  all  by  itself  on  its  hind 
legs,  and  says  "poppa"  and  "momma."  It  is 
certainly  a  new  species.  This  resemblance  to  words 
may  be  purely  accidental,  of  course?  and  may  have 


428  The   $30,000   Bequest 

no  purpose  or  meaning ;  but  even  in  that  case  it  h 
still  extraordinary,  and  is  a  thing  which  no  other 
bear  can  do.  This  imitation  of  speech,-  taken 
together  with  general  absence  of  fur  and  entire 
absence  of  tail,  sufficiently  indicates  that  this  is  a 
new  kind  of  bear.  The  further  study  of  it  will  be 
exceedingly  interesting.  Meantime  I  will  go  off  6n 
a  far  expedition  among  the  forests  of  the  north  and 
make  an  exhaustive  search.  There  must  certainly  be 
another  one  somewhere,  and  this  one  will  be  less 
dangerous  when  it  has  company  >of  its  own  species. 
I  will  go  straightway;  but  I  will  muzzle  this  one 
first. 

THREE  MONTHS  LATER, —  It  has  been  a  weary, 
weary  hunt,  yet  I  have  had  no  success.  In  the 
meantime,  without  stirring  from  the  home  estate,  she 
has  caught  another  one !  I  never  saw  such  luck. 
I  might  have  hunted  these  woods  a  hundred  years,  I 
never  would  have  run  across  that  thing. 

NEXT  DAY. —  I  have  been  comparing  the  new  one 
with  the  old  one,  and  it  is  perfectly  plain  that  they 
are  the  same  breed.  I  was  going  to  stuff  one  of 
them  for  my  collection,  but  she  is  prejudiced  against 
it  for  some  reason  or  other ;  so  I  have  relinquished 
the  idea,  though  I  think  it  is  a  mistake.  It  would 
be  an  irreparable  loss  to  science  if  they  should  get 
away.  The  old  one  is  tamer  than  it  was  and  can 
Jaagh  and  talk  like  the  parrot,  having  learned  this, 
no  doubt,  from  being  with  the  parrot  so  much,  and 
having1  the  imitative  faculty  m  a  highly  developed 


Extracts  from   Adam's   Diary  429 

degree.  I  shall  be  astonished  if  it  turns  out  to  be 
a  new  kind  of  parrot;  and  yet  I  ought  not  to  be 
astonished,  for  it  has  already  been  everything  else  it 
could  think  of  since  those  first  days  when  it  was 
a  fish.  The  new  one  is  as  ugly  now  as  the  old  one 
was  at  first;  has  the  same  sulphur-and-raw-meat 
complexion  and  the  same  singular  head  without  any 
fur  on  it.  She  calls  it  Abel. 

TEN  YEARS  LATER. —  They  are  boys  ;  we  found  it 
out  long  ago.  It  was  their  coming  in  that  small, 
immature  shape  that  puzzled  us;  we  were  not  used 
to  it.  There  are  some  girls  now.  Abel  is  a  good 
boy,  but  if  Cain  had  stayed  a  bear  it  would  have 
improved  him.  After  all  these  years,  I  see  that  I 
was  mistaken  about  Eve  in  the  beginning;  it  is  better 
to  live  outside  the  Garden  with  her  than  inside  it 
without  her.  At  first  I  thought  she  talked  too 
much ;  but  now  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  that  voice 
fall  silent  and  pass  out  of  my  life.  Blessed  be  the 
chestnut  that  brought  us  near  together  and  taught 
me  to  know  the  goodness  of  her  heart  and  the  sweet 
ness  of  her  spirit  I 


THE  DEATH  DISK 


THIS  was  in  Oliver  Cromwell's  time.  Colonel 
Mayfair  was  the  youngest  officer  of  his  rank 
in  the  armies  of  the  Commonwealth,  he  being  but 
thirty  years  old.  But  young  as  he  was,  he  was  a 
veteran  soldier,  and  tanned  and  warworn,  for  he 
had  begun  his  military  life  at  seventeen;  he  had 
fought  in  many  battles,  and  had  won  his  high  place 
in  the  service  and  in  the  admiration  of  men,  step 
by  step,  by  valor  in  the  field.  But  he  was  in  deep 
trouble  now;  a  shadow  had  fallen  upon  his  fortunes. 
The  winter  evening  was  come,  and  outside  were 
storm  and  darkness;  within,  a  melancholy  silence ; 
for  the  Colonel  and  his  young  wife  had  talked  their 
sorrow  out,  had  read  the  evening  chapter  and  prayed 
the  evening  prayer,  and  there  was  nothing  more  to 
do  but  sit  hand  in  hand  and  gaze  into  the  fire,  and 
think  —  and  wait.  They  would  not  have  to  wait 
long;  they  knew  that,  and  the  wife  shuddered  at 
the  thought. 


*  The  text  for  this  story  is  a  touching  incident  mentioned  in  Carlyle's 
Letters  and  Speeches  of  Oliver  Cromwell. —  M.  T. 


The   Death   Disk  431 

They  had  one  child  —  Abby,  seven  years  old,  their 
idol.  She  would  be  coming  presently  for  the  good 
night  kiss,  and  the  Colonel  spoke  now,  and  said : 

44  Dry  away  the  tears  and  let  us  seem  happy,  for 
her  sake.  We  must  forget,  for  the  time,  that  which 
is  to  happen." 

44  I  will.  I  will  shut  them  up  in  my  heart,  which 
is  breaking." 

44  And  we  will  accept  what  is  appointed  for  us, 
and  bear  it  in  patience,  as  knowing  that  whatsoever 
He  doeth  is  done  in  righteousness  and  meant  in 
kindness  — •  " 

11  Saying,  His  will  be  done.  Yes,  I  can  say  it 
with  all  my  mind  and  soul  —  I  would  I  could  say 
it  with  my  heart.  Oh,  if  I  could  !  if  this  dear  hand 
which  I  press  and  kiss  for  the  last  time  —  ' ' 

44  'Sh!   sweetheart,  she  is  coming!  " 

A  curly-headed  little  figure  in  nightclothes  glided 
in  at  the  door  and  ran  to  the  father,  and  was  gathered 
to  his  breast  and  fervently  kissed  once,  twice,  three 
times. 

"Why,  papa,  you  mustn't  kiss  me  like  that: 
you  rumple  my  hair." 

44  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  —  so  sorry:  do  you  forgive 
me,  dear?  " 

*'  Why,  of  course,  papa.  But  are  you  sorry?  — 
not  pretending,  but  real,  right  down  sorry?  " 

4*Well,  you  can  judge  for  yourself,  Abby,"  and 
he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  made  believe 
to  sob.  The  child  was  filled  with  remorse  to  see  this 


432  The   $30,000   Bequest 

tragic  thing  which  she  had  caused,  and  she  began  to 
cry  herself,  and  to  tug  at  the  hands,  and  say: 

"  Oh,  don't,  papa,  please  don't  cry;  Abby  didn't 
mean  it;  Abby  wouldn't  ever  do  it  again.  Please, 
papa !  ' '  Tugging  and  straining  to  separate  the 
fingers,  she  got  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  an  eye  behind 
them,  and  cried  out:  "Why,  you  naughty  papa, 
you  are  not  crying  at  all !  You  are  only  fooling ! 
And  Abby  is  going  to  mamma,  now:  you  don't 
treat  Abby  right." 

She  was  for  climbing  down,  but  hen  father  wound 
his  arms  about  her  and  said:  "No,  stay  with  me, 
dear:  papa  was  naughty,  and  confesses  it,  and  is 
sorry  —  there,  let  him  kiss  the  tears  away  —  and  he 
begs  Abby's  forgiveness,  and  will  do  anything  Abby 
says  he  must  do,  for  a  punishment;  they're  all 
kissed  away  now,  and  not  a  curl  rumpled  —  and 
whatever  Abby  commands  —  ' ' 

And  so  it  was  made  up ;  and  all  in  a  moment  the 
sunshine  was  back  again  and  burning  brightly  in  the 
child's  face,  and  she  was  patting  her  father's  cheeks 
and  naming  the  penalty  —  "A  story !  a  story  !  ' ' 

Hark !      * 

The  elders  stopped  breathing,  and  listened.  Foot 
steps  !  faintly  caught  between  the  gusts  of  wind. 
They  came  nearer,  nearer  —  louder,  louder  —  then 
passed  by  and  faded  away.  The  elders  drew  deep 
breaths  of  relief,  and  the  papa  said:  "  A  story,  is 
it?  A  gay  one?  " 

tc  No,  papa:   a  dreadful  one." 


''HARK!  THE  ELDERS  STOPPED  BREATHING  AND  LISTENED" 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

•    v 


The   Death   Disk  433 

Papa  wanted  to  shift  to  the  gay  kind,  but  the  child 
stood  by  her  rights  —  as  per  agreement,  she  was  to 
have  anything  she  commanded,,  He  was  a  good 
Puritan  soldier  and  had  passed  his  word  —  he  saw 
that  he  must  make  it  good.  She  said : 

44  Papa,  we  mustn't  always  have  gay  ones.  Nurse 
says  people  don't  always  have  gay  times.  Is  that 
true,  papa?  She  says  so." 

The  mamma  sighed,  and  her  thoughts  drifted  to 
her  troubles  again.  The  papa  said,  gently:  "  It  is 
true,  dear.  Troubles  have  to  come;  it  is  a  pity, 
but  it  is  true." 

44  Oh,  then  tell  a  story  about  them,  papa  —  a 
dreadful  one,  so  that  we'll  shiver,  and  feel  just  as  if 
it  was  us.  Mamma,  you  snuggle  up  close,  and  hold 
one  of  Abby's  hands,  so  that  if  it's  too  dreadful  it'll 
be  easier  for  us  to  bear  it  if  we  are  all  snuggled  up 
together,  you  know.  Now  you  can  begin,  papa." 

14  Well,  once  there  were  three  Colonels —  " 

44  Oh,  goody!  /know  Colonels,  just  as  easy! 
It's  because  you  are  one,  and  I  know  the  clothes. 
Go  on,  papa." 

4  4  And  in  a  battle  they  had  committed  a  breach  of 
discipline." 

The  large  words  struck  the  child's  ear  pleasantly, 
and  she  looked  up,  full  of  wonder  and  interest,  and 
said: 

41  Is  it  something  good  to  eat,  papa?  " 

The  parents  almost  smiled,  and  the  father 
answered : 


434  The  $30,000   Bequest 

"  No,  quite  another  matter,  dear.  They  ex 
ceeded  their  orders." 

"Is  //tosometh — " 

"  No;  it's  as  uneatable  as  the  other.  They  were 
ordered  to  feign  an  attack  on  a  strong  position  in  a 
losing  fight,  in  order  to  draw  the  enemy  about  and 
give  the  Commonwealth's  forces  a  chance  to  retreat; 
but  in  their  enthusiasm  they  overstepped  their 
orders,  for  they  turned  the  feint  into  a  fact,  and 
carried  the  position  by  storm,  and  won  the  day  and 
the  battle.  The  Lord  General  was  very  angry  at 
their  disobedience,  and  praised  them  highly,  and 
ordered  them  to  London  to  be  tried  for  their  lives." 

"  Is  it  the  great  General  Cromwell,  papa?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  I've  seen  him,  papa!  and  when  he  goes  by 
our  house  so  grand  on  his  big  horse,  with  the 
soldiers,  he  looks  so  —  so  —  well,  I  don't  know  just 
how,  only  he  looks  as  if  he  isn't  satisfied,  and  you 
can  see  the  people  are  afraid  of  him;  but  Pm  not 
afraid  of  him,  because  he  didn't  look  like  that  at 
me." 

"Oh,  you  dear  prattler!  Well,  the  Colonels 
came  prisoners  to  London,  and  were  put  upon  their 
honor,  and  allowed  to  go  and  see  their  families  for 
the  last— " 

Hark! 

They  listened.  Footsteps  again;  but  again  they 
passed  by.  The  mamma  leaned  her  head  upon  her 
husband's  shoulder  to  hide  her  paleness. 


The   Death   Disk  455 

"  They  arrived  this  morning." 

The  child's  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  Why,  papa  !   is  it  a  true  story?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Oh,  how  good  !  Oh,  it's  ever  so  much  better! 
Go  on,  papa.  Why,  mamma  !  —  dear  mamma,  are 
you  crying?  " 

*'  Never  mind  me,  dear  —  I  was  thinking  of  the  — 
of  the  —  the  poor  families." 

"  But  don't  cry,  mamma:  it'll  all  come  out  right 
—  you'll  see;  stories  always  do.  Go  on,  papa,  to 
where  they  lived  happy  ever  after;  then  she  won't 
cry  any  more.  You'll  see,  mamma.  Go  on,  papa." 

"  First,  they  took  them  to  the  Tower  before  they 
let  them  go  home." 

"Oh,  /know  the  Tower!  We  can  see  it  from 
here.  Go  on,  papa." 

"  I  am  going  on  as  well  as  I  can,  in  the  circum 
stances.  In  the  Tower  the  military  court  tried  them 
for  an  hour,  and  found  them  guilty,  and  condemned 
them  to  be  shot." 

"Killed,  papa?11 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  how  naughty !  Dear  mamma,  you  are  cry 
ing  again.  Don't,  mamma;  it'll  soon  come  to  the 
good  place  — you'll  see.  Hurry,  papa,  for  mam 
ma's  sake;  you  don't  go  fast  enough." 

"I  know  I  don't,  but  I  suppose  it  is  because  I 
stop  so  much  to  reflect." 

"  But  you  mustn't  do  it,  papa;  you  must  go  right 


43^  The   $30,000   Bequest 

44  Very  well,  then.     The  three  Colonels—  " 

44  Do  you  know  them,  papa?  " 

4 'Yes,  dear." 

4 'Oh,  I  wish  I  did!  I  love  Colonels.  Would 
they  let  me  kiss  them,  do  you  think?"  The 
Colonel's  voice  was  a  little  unsteady  when  he 
answered  — 

41  One  of  them  would,  my  darling!  There  - — kiss 
me  for  him." 

14  There,  papa  —  and  these  two  are  for  the  others. 
I  think  they  would  let  me  kiss  them,  papa;  for  I 
would  say,  4  My  papa  is  a  Colonel,  too,  and  brave, 
and  he  would  do  what  you  did;  so  it  can't  be 
wrong,  no  matter  what  those  people  say,  and  you 
needn't  be  the  least  bit  ashamed ;  '  then  they  would 
let  me, —  wouldn't  they,  papa?  " 

64  God  knows  they  would,  child!  " 

14  Mamma!— oh,  mamma,  you  muatirt.  He's 
soon  coming  to  the  happy  place;  go  on,  papa." 

4  Then,  some  were  sorry  —  they  all  were;  that 
military  court,  I  mean ;  and  they  went  to  the  Lord 
General,  and  said  they  had  done  their  duty  —  for  it 
was  their  duty,  you  know  —  and  now  they  begged 
that  two  of  the  Colonels  might  be  spared,  and  only 
the  other  one  shot.  One  would  be  sufficient  for  an 
example  for  the  army,  they  thought.  But  the  Lord 
General  was  very  stern,  and  rebuked  them  foras 
much  as,  having  done  their  duty  and  cleared  their 
consciences,  they  would  beguile  him  to  do  less,  and 
so  smirch  his  soldierly  honor.  But  they  answered 


The  Death   Disk  437 

that  they  were  asking  nothing  of  him  that  they 
would  not  do  themselves  if  they  stood  in  his  great 
place  and  held  in  their  hands  the  noble  prerogative 
of  mercy.  That  struck  him,  and  he  paused  and 
stood  thinking,  some  of  the  sternness  passing  out  of 
his  face.  Presently  he  bid  them  wait,  and  he  retired 
to  his  closet  to  seek  counsel  of  God  in  prayer;  and 
when  he  came  again,  he  said:  '  They  shall  cast  lots. 
That  shall  decide  it,  and  two  of  them  shall  live/  ' 

"  And  did  they,  papa,  did  they?  And  which  one 
is  to  die?  —  ah,  that  poor  man!  " 

4 'No.     They  refused." 

"They  wouldn't  do  it,  papa?  " 

"No." 

"Why?" 

4 '  They  said  that  the  one  that  got  the  fatal  bean 
would  be  sentencing  himself  to  death  by  his  own 
voluntary  act,  and  it  would  be  but  suicide,  call  it  by 
what  name  one  might.  They  said  they  were  Chris 
tians,  and  the  Bible  forbade  men  to  take  their  own 
lives.  They  sent  back  that  word,  and  said  they  were 
ready —  let  the  court' s  sentence  be  carried  into  effect. ' ' 

"  What  does  that  mean,  papa?  " 

"  They  — they  will  all  be  shot." 

Hark! 

The  wind?  No.  Tramp  —  tramp  — tramp  — 
r-r-r-umble-dumdum,  r-r-rumble-dumdum  — 

"  Open  —  in  the  Lord  General's  name  !  " 

"  Oh,  goody :  papa,  it's  the  soldiers  !  —  I  love  the 
soldiers  !  Let  me  let  them  in,  papa,  let  me!" 


The   $30,000  Bequest 

She  jumped  down,  and  scampered  to  the  door 
and  pulled  it  open,  crying  joyously:  "Come  in! 
come  in!  Here  they  are,  papa!  Grenadiers!  / 
know  the  Grenadiers  !  " 

The  file  marched  in  and  straightened  up  in  line  at 
shoulder  arms;  its  officer  saluted,  the  doomed 
Colonel  standing  erect  and  returning  the  courtesy, 
the  soldier  wife  standing  at  his  side,  white,  and  with 
features  drawn  with  inward  pain,  but  giving  no 
other  sign  of  her  misery,  the  child  gazing  on  the 
show  with  dancing  eyes.  .  .  . 

One  long  embrace,  of  father,  mother,  and  child ; 
then  the  order,  5  *  To  the  Tower  —  forward  !  ' ' 
Then  the  Colonel  marched  forth  from  the  house 
with  military  step  and  bearing,  the  file  following; 
then  the  door  closed. 

"Oh,  mamma,  didn't  it  come  out  beautiful!  I 
told  you  it  would;  and  they're  going  to  the  Tower, 
and  he'll  see  them  !  He—" 

"Oh,  come  to  my  arms,  you  poor  innocent 
thing!" 

n 

The  next  morning  the  stricken  mother  was  not 
able  to  leave  her  bed;  doctors  and  nurses  were 
watching  by  her,  and  whispering  together  now  and 
then ;  Abby  could  not  be  allowed  in  the  room ;  she 
was  told  to  run  and  play  —  mamma  was  very  ill. 
The  child,  muffled  in  winter  wraps,  went  out  and 
played  in  the  street  awhile;  then  it  struck  her  as 


The   Death    Disk  439 

strange,  and  also  wrong,  that  her  papa  should  be 
allowed  to  stay  at  the  Tower  in  ignorance  at  such  a 
time  as  this.  This  must  be  remedied;  she  would 
attend  to  it  in  person. 

An  hour  later  the  military  court  were  ushered  into 
the  presence  of  the  Lord  General.  He  stood  grim 
and  erect,  with  his  knuckles  resting  upon  the  table, 
and  indicated  that  he  was  ready  to  listen.  The 
spokesman  said :  ' '  We  have  urged  them  to  recon 
sider  ;  we  have  implored  them :  but  they  persjst. 
They  will  not  cast  lots.  They  are  willing  to  die, 
but  not  to  defile  their  religion." 

The  Protector's  face  darkened,  but  he  said  noth 
ing.  He  remained  a  time  in  thought,  then  he  said : 
"They  shall  not  all  die;  the  lots  shall  be  cast  fo^ 
them."  Gratitude,  shone  in  the  faces  of  the  court. 
"  Send  for  them.  Place  them  in  that  room  there. 
Stand  them  side  by  side  with  their  faces  to  the  wall 
and  their  wrists  crossed  behind  them.  Let  me  have 
notice  when  they  are  there." 

When  he  was  alone  he  sat  down,  and  presently 
gave  this  order  to  an  attendant:  "  Go,  bring  me  the 
first  little  child  that  passes  by." 

The  man  was  hardly  out  at  the  door  before  he  was 
back  again  —  leading  Abby  by  the  hand,  her  gar 
ments — lightly  powdered  with  snow.  She  went 
straight  to  the  Head  of  the  State,  that  formidable 
personage  at  the  mention  of  whose  name  the  princi 
palities  and  powers  of  the  earth  trembled,  and 
climbed  up  in  his  lap,  and  said : 


440  The   $30,000    Bequest 


;,  sir:  you  are  the  Lord  General;  I 
have  seen  you ;  I  have  seen  you  when  you  went  by 
my  house.  Everybody  was  afraid;  but  /  wasn't 
afraid,  because  you  didn't  look  cross  at  me ;  you 
remember,  don't  you?  I  had  on  my  red  frock  — 
the  one  with  the  blue  things  on  it  down  the  front. 
Don't  you  remember  that?  " 

A  smile  softened  the  austere  lines  of  the  Pro 
tector's  face,  and  he  began  to  struggle  diplomatically 
with  his  answer : 

"Why,  let  me  see  — I—" 

"  I  was  standing  right  by  the  house  —  my  house, 
you  know." 

"Well,  you  dear  little  thing,  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed,  but  you  know —  " 

The  child  interrupted,  reproachfully: 

44  Now  you  don't  remember  it.  Why,  I  didn't 
forget  you" 

1  *  Now  I  am  ashamed :  but  I  will  never  forget  you 
again,  dear;  you  have  my  word  for  it.  You  will 
forgive  me  now,  won't  you,  and  be  good  friends 
with  me,  always  and  forever?  " 

*  Yes,  indeed  I  will,  though  I  don't  know  how 
you  came  to  forget  it ;  you  must  be  very  forgetful : 
but  I  am  too,  sometimes.  I  can  forgive  you  with 
out  any  trouble,  for  I  think  you  mean  to  be  good 
and  do  right,  and  I  think  you  are  just  as  kind  —  but 
you  must  snuggle  me  better,  the  way  papa  does  — 
it's  cold." 

"You  shall  be  snuggled  to  your  heart's  content, 


The  Death   Disk  441 

little  new  friend  of  mine,  always  to  be  old  friend  of 
mine  hereafter,  isn't  it?  You  mind  me  of  my  little 
girl  —  not  little  any  more,  now  —  but  she  was  dear, 
and  sweet,  and  daintily  made,  like  you.  And  she 
had  your  charm,  little  witch — your  all-conquering 
sweet  confidence  in  friend  and  stranger  alike,  that 
wins  to  willing  slavery  any  upon  whom  its  precious 
compliment  falls.  She  used  to  lie  in  my  arms,  just 
as  you  are  do/ng  now ;  and  charm  the  weariness  and 
care  out  of  /my  heart  and  give  it  peace,  just  as 
you  are  doing  now;  and  we  were  comrades,  and 
equals,  and  playfellows  together.  Ages  ago  it 
was,  since  that  pleasant  heaven  faded  away  and 
vanished,  and  you  have  brought  it  back  again;  — 
take  a  burdened  man's  blessing  for  it,  you  tiny 
creature,  who  are  carrying  the  weight  of  England 
while  I  rest!" 

"  Did  you  love  her  very,  very,  very  much?  " 
"Ah,  you  shall  judge  by  this:   she  commanded 
and  I  obeyed!" 

" 1  think  you  are  lovely !  Will  you  kiss  me?  " 
"Thankfully — aad*  hold  it  a  privilege,  too. 
There  —  this  one  is  for  you;  and  there  —  this  one 
is  for  her.  You  made  it  a  request;  and  you  could 
have  made  it  a  command,  for  you  are  representing 
her,  and  what  you  command  I  must  obey." 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  with  delight  at  the 
idea  of  this  grand  promotion  —  then  her  ear  caught 
an  approaching  sound :  the  measured  tramp  of 
marching  men. 


442  The  $30,000   Bequest 

"  Soldiers  !  —  soldiers,  Lord  General !  Abby 
wants  to  see  them !  ' ' 

*  You  shall,  dear;  but  wait  a  moment,  I  have  a 
commission  for  you." 

An  officer  entered  and  bowed  low,  saying,  "  They 
are  come,  your  Highness,"  bowed  again,  and  retired. 

The  Head  of  the  Nation  gave  Abby  three  little 
disks  of  sealing-wax:  two  white,  and  one  a  ruddy 
red  —  for  this  one's  mission  was  to  deliver  death  to 
the  Colonel  who  should  get  it. 

"  Oh,  what  a  lovely  red  one !     Are  they  for  me?  " 

"  No,  dear;  they  are  for  others.  Lift  the  corner 
of  that  curtain,  there,  which  hides  an  open  door; 
pass  through,  and  you  will  see  three  men  standing 
in  a  row,  with  their  backs  toward  you  and  their 
hands  behind  their  backs  —  so  —  each  with  one  hand 
open,  like  a  cup.  Into  each  of  the  open  hands  drop 
one  of  those  things,  then  come  back  to  me." 

Abby  disappeared  behind  the  curtain,  and  the 
Protector  was  alone.  He  said,  reverently:  "  Of  a 
surety  that  good  thought  came  to  me  in  my  per 
plexity  from  Him  who  is  an  ever  present  help  to 
them  that  are  in  doubt  and  seek  His  aid.  He 
knoweth  where  the  choice  should  fall,  and  has  sent 
His  sinless  messenger  to  do  His  will.  Another 
would  err,  but  He  cannot  err.  Wonderful  are  His 
ways,  and  wise- — blessed  be  His  holy  Name!  " 

The  small  fairy  dropped  the  curtain  behind  her 
and  stood  for  a  moment  conning  with  alert  curiosity 
the  appointments  of  the  chamber  of  doom,  and  the 


The   Death   Disk  443 

rigid  figures  of  the  soldiery  and  the  prisoners ;  then 
her  face  lighted  merrily,  and  she  said  to  herself: 
"Why,  one  of  them  is  papa!  I  know  his  back. 
He  shall  have  the  prettiest  one!"  She  tripped 
gayly  forward  and  dropped  the  disks  into  the  open 
hands,  then  peeped  around  under  her  father's  arm 
and  lifted  her  laughing  face  and  cried  out: 

"Papa!  papa!  look  what  you've  got.  7  gave  it 
to  you!  " 

He  glanced  at  the  fatal  gift,  then  sunk  to  his 
knees  and  gathered  his  innocent  little  executioner  to 
his  breast  in  an  agony  of  love  and  pity.  Soldiers, 
officers,  released  prisoners,  all  stood  paralyzed,  for 
a  moment,  at  the  vastness  of  this  tragedy,  then  the 
pitiful  scene  smote  their  hearts,  their  eyes  filled,  and 
they  wept  unashamed.  There  was  deep  and  rever 
ent  silence  during  some  minutes,  then  the  officer  of 
the  guard  moved  reluctantly  forward  and  touched 
his  prisoner  on  the  shoulder,  saying,  gently: 

"  It  grieves  me,  sir,  but  my  duty  commands." 

"  Commands  what?  "  said  the  child. 

"  I  must  take  him  away.     I  am  so  sorry." 

' '  Take  him  away  ?     Where  ?  ' ' 

"To  —  to  —  God  help  me  !  —  to  another  part  of 
the  fortress." 

"  Indeed  you  can't.  My  mamma  is  sick,  and  I 
am  going  to  take  him  home."  She  released  herself 
and  climbed  upon  her  father's  back  and  put  her 
arms  around  his  neck.  "  Now  Abby's  ready,  papa 
' — come  along." 


444  The  $30,000   Bequest 

"  My  poor  child,  I  can't.     I  must  go  with  them." 

The  child  jumped  to  the  ground  and  looked  about 
her,  wondering.     Then  she  ran  and  stood  before  the 
officer  and  stamped  her  small  foot  indignantly  and  ^ 
cried  out; 

r*  I  told  you  my  mamma  is  sick,  and  you  might 
have  listened.  Let  him  go  —  you  must  /  ' ' 

"  Oh,  poor  child,  would  God  I  could,  but  indeed 
I  must  take  him  away.  Attention,  guard !  .  .  .  . 
fall  in  !  ....  shoulder  arms  !"  .... 

Abby  was  gone  —  like  a  flash  of  light.  In  a 
moment  she  was  back,  dragging  the  Lord  Protector 
by  the  hand.  At  this  formidable  apparition  all 
present  straightened  up,  the  officers  saluting  and  the 
soldiers  presenting  arms. 

'*  Stop  them,  sir!  My  mamma  is  sick  and  wants 
my  papa,  and  I  told  them  so,  but  they  never  even 
listened  to  me,  and  are  taking  him  away." 

The  Lord  General  stood  as  one -dazed. 
'  Your  papa,  child?     Is  he  your  papa?  " 

"Why,  of  course  —  he  was  always  it.  Would  I 
give  the  pretty  red  one  to  any  other,  when  I  love 
him  so?  No  !  " 

A  shocked  expression  rose  in  the  Protector's  face, 
and  he  said : 

"  Ah,  God  help  me  !  through  Satan's  wiles  I  have 
done  the  cruelest  thing  that  ever  man  did  —  and 
there  is  no  help,  no  help  !  What  can  I  do?  " 

Abby  cried  out,  distressed  and  impatient:  "  Why, 
you  can  make  them  let  him  go,"  and  sh€  began  to 


The   Death   Disk  445 

sob.  "Tell  them  to  do  it!  You  told  me  to  com 
mand,  and  now  the  very  first  time  I  tell  you  to  do  a 
thing  you  don't  do  it !  " 

A  tender  light  dawned  in  the  rugged  old  face,  and 
the  Lord  General  laid  his  hand  upon  the  small 
tyrant's  head  and  said:  "God  be  thanked  for  the 
saving  accident  of  that  unthinking  promise;  and 
you,  inspired  by  Him,  for  reminding  me  of  my  for 
gotten  pledge,  O  incomparable  child !  Officer, 
obey  her  command  — she  speaks  by  my  mouth. 
The  prisoner  is  pardoned ;  set  him  free  1 ' ' 


OUGHT  NEVER  TO  DO  WRONG  WHEN 
PEOPLE  ARE  LOOKING 


A  DOUBLE-BARRELED  DETECTIVE 
STORY 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE  first  scene  is  in  the  country,  in  Virginia ;  the 
time,  1880.  There  has  been  a  wedding,  be 
tween  a  handsome  young  man  of  slender  means  and 
a  rich  young  girl  —  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight  and  a 
precipitate  marriage ;  a  marriage  bitterly  opposed  by 
the  girl's  widowed  father. 

Jacob  Fuller,  the  bridegroom,  is  twenty-six  years 
old,  is  of  an  old  but  unconsidered  family  which  had 
by  compulsion  emigrated  from  Sedgemoor,  and  for 
King  James's  purse's  profit,  so  everybody  said  — 
some  maliciously,  the  rest  merely  because  they  be 
lieved  it.  The  bride  is  nineteen  and  beautiful.  She 
is  intense,  high-strung,  romantic,  immeasurably 
proud  of  her  Cavalier  blood,  and  passionate  in  her 
love  for  her  young  husband.  For  its  sake  she 
braved  her  father's  displeasure,  endured  his  re 
proaches,  listened  with  loyalty  unshaken  to  his  warn 
ing  predictions,  and  went  from  his  house  without  his 


450  The   $30.000    Bequest 

blessing,  proud  and  happy  in  the  proofs  she  was 
thus  giving  of  the  quality  of  the  affection  which  had 
made  its  home  in  her  heart. 

The  morning  after  the  marriage  there  was  a  sad 
surprise  for  her.  Her  husband  put  aside  her  prof 
fered  caresses,  and  said : 

"  Sit  down.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I 
loved  you.  That  was  before  I  asked  your  father  to 
give  you  to  me.  His  refusal  is  not  my  grievance  — 
I  could  have  endured  that.  But  the  things  he  said 
of  me  to  you  —  that  is  a  different  matter.  There  — 
you  needn't  speak;  I  know  quite  well  what  they 
were;  I  got  them  from  authentic  sources.  Among 
other  things  he  said  that  my  character  was  written  in 
my  face;  that  I  was  treacherous,  a  dissembler,  a 
coward,  and  a  brute  without  sense  of  pity  or  com 
passion :  the  '  Sedgemoor  trade-mark,'  he  called  it 
—  and  '  white-sleeve  badge.'  Any  other  man  in  my 
place  would  have  gone  to  his  house  and  shot  him 
down  like  a  dog.  I  wanted  to  do  it,  and  was  minded 
to  do  it,  but  a  better  thought  came  to  me :  to  put  him 
to  shame;  to  break  his  heart;  to  kill  him  by  inches. 
How  to  do  it?  Through  my  treatment  of  you,  his 
idol !  I  would  marry  you ;  and  then  —  Have 
patience.  You  will  see.'* 

From  that  moment  onward,  for  three  months,  the 
young  wife  suffered  all  the  humiliations,  all  the  in 
sults,  all  the  miseries  that  the  diligent  and  inventive 
mind  of  the  husband  could  contrive,  save  physical 
injuries  only.  Her  strong  pride  stood  by  her,  and 


"  HE    .        ,    PROCEEDED    TO    LASH    HER    TO    A    TREE 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          451 

she  kept  the  secret  of  her  troubles.  Now  and  then 
the  husband  said,  "Why  don't  you  go  to  your 
father  and  tell  him  ?  ' '  Then  he  invented  new  tor 
tures,  applied  them,  and  asked  again.  She  always 
answered,  "He  shall  never  know  by  my  mouth," 
and  taunted  him  with  his  origin;  said  she  was  the 
lawful  slave  of  a  scion  of  slaves,  and  must  obey,  and 
would  —  up  to  that  point,  but  no  further;  he  could 
kill  her  if  he  liked,  but  he  could  not  break  her;  it 
was  not  in  the  Sedgemoor  breed  to  do  it.  At  the 
end  of  the  three  months  he  said,  with  a  dark  signifi 
cance  in  his  manner,  ' '  I  have  tried  all  things  but 
one" — and  waited  for  her  reply.  *  Try  that," 
she  said,  and  curled  her  lip  in  mockery. 

That  night  he  rose  at  midnight  and  put  on  his 
clothes,  then  said  to  her, 

"Get  up  and  dress!  " 

She  obeyed  —  as  always,  without  a  word.  He 
led  her  half  a  mile  from  the  house,  and  proceeded  to 
lash  her  to  a  tree  by  the  side  of  the  public  road ; 
and  succeeded,  she  screaming  and  struggling.  He 
gagged  her  then,  struck  her  across  the  face  with  his 
cowhide,  and  set  his  bloodhounds  on  her.  They 
tore  the  clothes  off  her,  and  she  was  naked.  He 
called  the  dogs  off,  and  said : 

'  You  will  be  found  —  by  the  passing  public. 
They  will  be  dropping  along  about  three  hours 
from  now,  and  will  spread  the  news  —  do  you  hear? 
Good-by.  You  have  seen  the  last  of  me." 

He  went  away  then.     She  moaned  to  herself: 


452  The   $30,000    Bequest 

* '  I  shall  bear  a  child  —  to  him  !  God  grant  it 
may  be  a  boy  !  ' ' 

The  farmers  released  her  by  and  by  —  and  spread 
the  news,  which  was  natural.  They  raised  the 
country  with  lynching  intentions,  but  the  bird  had 
flown.  The  young  wife  shut  herself  up  in  her 
father's  house;  he  shut  himself  up  with  her,  and 
thenceforth  would  see  no  one.  His  pride  was 
broken,  and  his  heart;  so  he  wasted  away,  day  by 
day,  and  even  his  daughter  rejoiced  when  death  re 
lieved  him. 

Then  she  sold  the  estate  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER   II. 

IN  1886  a  young  woman  was  living  in  a  modest 
house  near  a  secluded  New  England  village,  with 
no  company  but  a  little  boy  about  five  years  old. 
She  did  her  own  work,  she  discouraged  acquaint 
anceships,  and  had  none.  The  butcher,  the  baker, 
and  the  others  that  served  her  could  tell  the  villagers 
nothing  about  her  further  than  that  her  name  was 
Stillman,  and  that  she  called  the  child  Archy. 
Whence  she  came  they  had  not  been  able  to  find 
out,  but  they  said  she  talked  like  a  Southerner. 
The  child  had  no  playmates  and  no  comrade,  and 
no  teacher  but  the  mother.  She  taught  him  dili 
gently  and  intelligently,  and  was  satisfied  with  the 
results —  even  a  little  proud  of  them.  One  day 
Archy  said, 

"Mamma,  am  I  different  from  other  children?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  not.     Why  ?  " 

"There  was  a  child  going  along  out  there  and 
asked  me  if  the  postman  had  been  by  and  I  said  yes, 
and  she  said  how  long  since  I  saw  him  and  I  said  I 
hadn't  seen  him  at  all,  and  she  said  how  did  I  know 
he'd  been  by,  then,  and  I  said  because  I  smelt  his 
track  on  the  sidewalk,  and  she  said  I  was  a  dum 


454  The   $30,000    Bequest 

fool  and  made  a  mouth  at  me.     What  did  she  do 
that  for?0 

The  young  woman  turned  white,  and  said  to  her 
self,  "It's  a  birthmark!  The  gift  of  the  blood 
hound  is  in  him."  She  snatched  the  boy  to  her 
breast  and  hugged  him  passionately,  saying,  "  God 
has  appointed  the  way !  ' '  Her  eyes  were  burning 
with  a  fierce  light  and  her  breath  came  short  and 
quick  with  excitement.  She  said  to  herself:  "The 
puzzle  is  solved  now;  many  a  time  it  has  been  a 
mystery  to  me,  the  impossible  things  the  child  has 
done  in  the  dark,  but  it  is  all  clear  to  me  now." 
She  set  him  in  his  small  chair,  and  said, 
"  Wait  a  little  till  I  come,  dear;  then  we  will  talk 
about  the  matter." 

She  went  up  to  her  room  and  took  from  her 
dressing-table  several  small  articles  and  put  them 
out  of  sight:  a  nail- file  on  the  floor  under  the  bed; 
a  pair  of  nail-scissors  under  the  bureau ;  a  small 
ivory  paper-knife  under  the  wardrobe.  Then  she 
returned,  and  said : 

4  *  There  !  I  have  left  some  things  which  I  ought 
to  have  brought  down."  She  named  them,  and 
said,  44  Run  up  and  bring  them,  dear." 

The  child  hurried  away  on  his  errand  and  was  soon 
back  again  with  the  things. 

44  Did  you  have  any  difficulty,  dear?  " 
41  No,  mamma;   i  only  went  where  you  went." 
During  his  absence  she  had  stepped  to  the  book 
case,  taken  several  books  from   the   bottom  shelf, 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          455 

opened  each,  passed  her  hand  ever  a  page,  noting  its 
number  in  her  memory,  then  restored  them  to  their 
places.  Now  she  said : 

"  I  have  been  doing  something  while  you  have 
been  gone,  Archy.  Do  you  think  you  can  find  out 
what  it  was  ?  ' ' 

The  boy  went  to  the  bookcase  and  got  out  the 
books  that  had  been  touched,  and  opened  them  at 
the  pages  which  had  been  stroked. 

The  mother  took  him  in  her  lap,  and  said: 

"  I  will  answer  your  question  now,  dear.  I  have 
found  out  that  in  one  way  you  are  quite  different 
from  other  people.  You  can  see  in  the  dark,  you 
can  smell  what  other  people  cannot,  you  have  the 
talents  of  a  bloodhound.  They  are  good  and  valu 
able  things  to  have,  but  you  must  keep  the  matter  a 
secret.  If  people  found  it  out,  they  would  speak  of 
you  as  an  odd  child,  a  strange  child,  and  children 
would  be  disagreeable  to  you,  and  give  you  nick 
names.  In  this  world  one  must  be  like  everybody 
else  if  he  doesn't  want  to  provoke  scorn  or  envy  or 
jealousy.  It  is  a  great  and  fine  distinction  which 
has  been  born  to  you,  and  I  am  glad;  but  you  will 
keep  it  a  secret,  for  mamma's  sake,  won't  you?  " 

The  child  promised,  without  understanding. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  the  mother's  brain  was 
busy  with  excited  thinkings;  with  plans,  projects, 
schemes,  each  and  all  of  them  uncanny,  grim,  and 
dark.  Yet  they  lit  up  her  face ;  lit  it  with  a  fell 
light  of  their  own;  lit  it  with  vague  fires  of  hell. 


456  The  $30,000   Bequest 

She  was  in  a  fever  of  unrest;  she  could  not  sit, 
stand,  read,  sew;  there  was  no  relief  for  her  but  in 
movement.  She  tested  her  boy's  gift  in  twenty 
ways,  and  kept  saying  to  herself  all  the  time,  with 
her  mind  in  the  past:  "He  broke  my  father's 
heart,  and  night  and  day  all  these  years  I  have  tried, 
and  all  in  vain,  to  think  out  a  way  to  break  his.  I 
have  found  it  now  —  I  have  found  it  now." 

When  night  fell,  the  demon  of  unrest  still  possessed 
her.  She  went  on  with  her  tests ;  with  a  candle  she 
traversed  the  house  from  garret  to  cellar,  hiding 
pins,  needles,  thimbles,  spools,  under  pillows,  under 
carpets,  in  cracks  in  the  walls,  under  the  coal  in  the 
bin;  then  sent  the  little  fellow  in  the  dark  to  find 
them ;  which  he  did,  and  was  happy  and  proud  when 
she  praised  him  and  smothered  him  with  caresses. 

From  this  time  forward  life  took  on  a  new  com 
plexion  for  her.  She  said,  "  The  future  is  secure — 
I  can  wait,  and  enjoy  the  waiting."  The  most  of 
her  lost  interests  revived.  She  took  up  music  again, 
and  languages,  drawing,  painting,  and  the  other  long-  i 
discarded  delights  of  her  maidenhood.  She  was 
happy  once  more,  and  felt  again  the  zest  of  life. 
As  the  years  drifted  by  she  watched  the  develop 
ment  of  her  boy,  and  was  contented  with  it.  Not 
altogether,  but  nearly  that.  The  soft  side  of  his 
heart  was  larger  than  the  other  side  of  it.  It  was 
his  only  defect,  in  her  eyes.  But  she  considered 
that  his  love  for  her  and  worship  of  her  made  up  for 
it.  He  was  a  good  hater  —  that  was  well ;  but  it 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          457 

was  a  question  if  the  materials  of  his  hatreds  were  of 
as  tough  and  enduring  a  quality  as  those  of  his 
friendships  —  and  that  was  not  so  well. 

The  years  drifted  on.  Archy  was  become  a  hand 
some,  shapely,  athletic  youth,  courteous,  dignified, 
companionable,  pleasant  in  his  ways,  and  looking 
perhaps  a  trifle  older  than  he  was,  which  was  sixteen. 
One  evening  his  mother  said  she  had  something  of 
grave  importance  to  say  to  him,  adding  that  he  was 
old  enough  to  hear  it  now,  and  old  enough  and  pos 
sessed  of  character  enough  and  stability  enough  to 
carry  out  a  stern  plan  which  she  had  been  for  years 
contriving  and  maturing.  Then  she  told  him  her 
bitter  story,  in  all  its  naked  atrociousness.  For  a 
while  the  boy  was  paralyzed ;  then  he  said : 

"I  understand.  We  are  Southerners;  and  by 
our  custom  and  nature  there  is  but  one  atonement. 
I  will  search  him  out  and  kill  him." 

"Kill  him?  No!  Death  is  release,  emancipa 
tion  ;  death  is  a  favor.  Do  I  owe  him  favors  ?  You 
must  not  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head." 

The  boy  was  lost  in  thought  awhile ;  then  he  said : 

"  You  are  all  the  world  to  me,  and  your  desire  is 
my  law  and  my  pleasure.  Tell  me  what  to  do  and 
I  will  do  it." 

The  mother's  eyes  beamed  with  satisfaction,  and 
she  said : 

'  You  will  go  and  find  him.  I  have  known  his 
hiding-place  for  eleven  years ;  it  cost  me  five  years 
and  more  of  inquiry,  and  much  money,  to  locate  it. 


The   $30,000   Bequest 

He  is  a  quartz-miner  in  Colorado,  and  well-to-do. 
He  lives  in  Denver.  His  name  is  Jacob  Fuller. 
There  —  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  spoken  it  since 
that  unforgettable  night.  Think !  That  name  could 
have  been  yours  if  I  had  not  saved  you  that  shame 
and  furnished  you  a  cleaner  one.  You  will  drive 
him  from  that  place ;  you  will  hunt  him  down  and 
drive  him  again;  and  yet  again,  and  again,  and 
again,  persistently,  relentlessly,  poisoning  his  life, 
filling  it  with  mysterious  terrors,  loading  it  with 
weariness  and  misery,  making  him  wish  for  death, 
and  that  he  had  a  suicide's  courage;  you  will  make 
of  him  another  wandering  Jew;  he  shall  know  no 
rest  any  more,  no  peace  of  mind,  no  placid  sleep; 
you  shall  shadow  him,  cling  to  him,  persecute  him, 
till  you  break  his  heart,  as  he  broke  my  father's  and 
mine." 

"  I  will  obey,  mother." 

"  I  believe  it,  my  child.  The  preparations  are  all 
made;  everything  is  ready.  Here  is  a  letter  of 
credit;  spend  freely,  there  is  no  lack  of  money. 
At  times  you  may  need  disguises.  I  have  provided 
them;  also  some  other  conveniences."  She  took 
from  the  drawer  of  the  typewriter  table  several 
squares  of  paper.  They  all  bore  these  typewritten 

words : 

$10,000  REWARD. 

It  is  believed  that  a  certain  man  who  is  wanted  in  an  Eastern  State 
is  sojourning  here.  In  1880,  in  the  night,  he  tied  his  young  wife  to  a 
tree  by  the  public  road,  cut  her  across  the  face  with  a  cowhide,  and 
made  his  dogs  tear  her  clothes  from  her,  leaving  her  naked.  He  left 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          459 

her  there,  and  fled  the  country.     A  blood-relative  of  hers  has  searched 

for  him  for  seventeen  years.     Address ,   ,  Post-office. 

The  above  reward  will  be  paid  in  cash  to  the  person  who  will  furnish 
the  seeker,  in  a  personal  interview,  the  criminal's  address. 

* '  When  you  have  found  him  and  acquainted  your 
self  with  his  scent,  you  will  go  in  the  night  and 
placard  one  of  these  upon  the  building  he  occupies, 
and  another  one  upon  the  post-office  or  in  some 
other  prominent  place.  It  will  be  the  talk  of  the 
region.  At  first  you  must  give  him  several  days  in 
which  to  force  a  sale  of  his  belongings  at  something 
approaching  their  value.  We  will  ruin  him  by  and 
by,  but  gradually;  we  must  not  impoverish  him  at 
once,  for  that  could  bring  him  to  despair  and  injure 
his  health,  possibly  kill  him." 

She  took  three  or  four  more  typewritten  forms 
from  the  drawer  —  duplicates  —  and  read  one: 

,  ,  18 

To  Jacob  Fuller: 

You  have days  in  which  to  settle  your  affairs.     You  will  not 

be  disturbed  during  that  limit,  which  will  expire  at M.,  on  the 

of You  must  then  MOVE  ON.     If  you  are  still  in  the 

place  after  the  named  hour,  I  will  placard  you  on  all  the  dead  walls, 
detailing  your  crime  once  more,  and  adding  the  date,  also  the  scene  of 
it,  with  all  names  concerned,  including  your  own.  Have  no  fear  of 
bodily  injury  —  it  will  in  no  circumstances  ever  be  inflicted  upon  you. 
You  brought  misery  upon  an  old  man,  and  ruined  his  life  and  broke  his 
heart.  What  he  suffered,  you  are  to  suffer. 

"You  will  add  no  signature.  He  must  receive 
this  before  he  learns  of  the  reward  placard  —  before 
he  rises  in  the  morning  —  lest  he  lose  his  head  and 
fly  the  place  penniless." 

"  I  shall  not  forget." 


460  The   $30,000   Bequest 

"  You  will  need  to  use  these  forms  only  in  the  be 
ginning —  once  may  be  enough.  Afterward,  when 
you  are  ready  for  him  to  vanish  out  of  a  place,  see 
that  he  gets  a  copy  of  this  form,  which  merely  says: 

MOVE  ON,     You  have days. 

"  He  will  obey,     That  is  sure.11 


CHAPTER   III. 
pXTRACTS  from  letters  to  the  mother: 

DENVER,  April  3,  1897. 

I  have  now  been  living  several  days  in  the  same  hotel  with  Jacob 
Fuller.  I  have  his  scent;  I  could  track  him  through  ten  divisions 
of  infantry  and  find  him.  I  have  often  been  near  him  and  heard  him 
talk.  He  owns  a  good  mine,  and  has  a  fair  income  from  it;  but  he  is 
not  rich.  He  learned  mining  in  a  good  way  —  by  working  at  it  for 
wages.  He  is  a  cheerful  creature,  and  his  forty-three  years  sit  lightly 
upon  him;  he  could  pass  for  a  younger  man  —  say  thirty-six  or  thirty- 
seven.  He  has  never  married  again  —  passes  himself  off  for  a  widower. 
He  stands  well,  is  liked,  is  popular,  and  has  many  friends.  Even  I  feel 
a  drawing  toward  him  —  the  paternal  blood  in  me  making  its  claim. 
How  blind  and  unreasoning  and  arbitrary  are  some  of  the  laws  of  nature 
— the  most  of  them,  in  fact!  My  task  is  become  hard  now — you 
realize  it?  you  comprehend,  and  make  allowances?  —  and  the  fire  of  it 
has  cooled,  more  than  I  like  to  confess  to  myself.  But  I  will  carry  it 
out.  Even  with  the  pleasure  paled,  the  duty  remains,  and  I  will 
not  spare  him. 

And  for  my  help,  a  sharp  resentment  rises  in  me  when  I  reflect  that 
he  who  committed  that  odious  crime  is  the  only  one  who  has  not 
suffered  by  it.  The  lesson  of  it  has  manifestly  reformed  his  character, 
and  in  the  change  he  is  happy.  He,  the  guilty  party,  is  absolved  from 
all  suffering;  you,  the  innocent,  are  borne  down  with  it.  But  be  com 
forted — he  shall  harvest  his  share. 

SILVER  GULCH,  May  19. 

I  placarded  Form  No.  I  at  midnight  of  April  3;  an  hour  later  I 
slipped  Form  No.  2  under  his  chamber  door,  notifying  him  to  leave 
Denver  at  or  before  11.50  the  night  of  the  I4th. 


462  The  $30;000   Bequest 

Some  late  bird  of  a  reporter  stole  one  of  my  placards,  then  hunted  the 
town  over  and  found  the  other  one,  and  stole  that.  In  this  manner  he 
accomplished  what  the  profession  call  a  "scoop" — that  is,  he  got 
a  valuable  item,  and  saw  to  it  that  no  other  paper  got  it.  And  so  his 
paper  —  the  principal  one  in  the  town  —  had  it  in  glaring  type  on  the 
editorial  page  in  the  morning,  followed  by  a  Vesuvian  opinion  of  our 
wretch  a  column  long,  which  wound  up  by  adding  a  thousand  dollars  to 
our  reward  on  the  paper's  account !  The  journals  out  here  know  how 
to  do  the  noble  thing  —  when  there's  business  in  it. 

At  breakfast  I  occupied  my  usual  seat  —  selected  because  it  afforded 
a  view  of  papa  Fuller's  face,  and  was  near  enough  for  me  to  hear  the 
talk  that  went  on  at  his  table.  Seventy-five  or  a  hundred  people  were 
in  the  room,  and  all  discussing  that  item,  and  saying  they  hoped  the 
seeker  would  find  that  rascal  and  remove  the  pollution  of  his  presence 
from  the  town  —  with  a  rail,  or  a  bullet,  or  something. 

When  Fuller  came  in  he  had  the  Notice  to  Leave  —  folded  up  —  in  one 
hand,  and  the  newspaper  in  the  other;  and  it  gave  me  more  than  half 
a  pang  to  see  him.  His  cheerfulness  was  all  gone,  and  he  looked  old 
and  pinched  and  ashy.  And  then  —  only  think  of  the  things  he  had  to 
listen  to !  Mamma,  he  heard  his  own  unsuspecting  friends  describe  him 
with  epithets  and  characterizations  drawn  from  the  very  dictionaries  and 
phrase-books  of  Satan's  own  authorized  editions  down  below.  And 
more  than  that,  he  had  to  agree  with  the  verdicts  and  applaud  them. 
His  applause  tasted  bitter  in  his  mouth,  though;  he  could  not  disguise 
that  from  me;  and  it  was  observable  that  his  appetite  was  gone;  he 
only  nibbled;  he  couldn't  eat.  Finally  a  man  said : 

"  It  is  quite  likely  that  that  relative  is  in  the  room  and  hearing  what 
this  town  thinks  of  that  unspeakable  scoundrel.  I  hope  so." 

Ah,  dear,  it  was  pitiful  the  way  Fuller  winced,  and  glanced  around 
scared !  He  couldn't  endure  any  more,  and  got  up  and  left. 

During  several  days  he  gave  out  that  he  had  bought  a  mine  in  Mexico, 
and  wanted  to  sell  out  and  go  down  there  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  give 
the  property  his  personal  attention.  He  played  his  cards  well;  said  he 
would  take  $40,000 — a  quarter  in  cash,  the  rest  in  safe  notes;  but  that 
as  he  greatly  needed  money  on  account  of  his  new  purchase,  he  would 
diminish  his  terms  for  cash  in  full.  He  sold  out  for  $30,000.  And 
then,  what  do  you  think  he  did?  He  asked  for  greenbacks  >  and  took 
them,  saying  the  man  in  Mexico  was  a  New-Englander,  with  a  head 
full  of  crotchets,  and  preferred  greenbacks  to  gold  or  drafts.  People 


A  Double-Barreled   Detective  Story         463 

thought  it  queer,  since  a  draft  on  New  York  could  produce  greenbacks 
quite  conveniently.  There  was  talk  of  this  odd  thing,  but  only  for  a 
day;  that  is  as  long  as  any  topic  lasts  in  Denver. 

I  was  watching,  all  the  time.  As  soon  as  the  sale  was  completed  and 
the  money  paid  —  which  was  on  the  nth  —  I  began  to  stick  to  Fuller's 
track  without  dropping  it  for  a  moment.  That  night  —  no,  I2th,  for  it 
was  a  little  past  midnight  —  I  tracked  him  to  his  room,  which  was  four 
doors  from  mine  in  the  same  hall;  then  I  went  back  and  put  on  my 
muddy  day-laborer  disguise,  darkened  my  complexion,  and  sat  down 
in  my  room  in  the  gloom,  with  a  gripsack  handy,  with  a  change  in  it, 
and  my  door  ajar.  For  I  suspected  that  the  bird  would  take  wing  now. 
In  half  an  hour  an  old  woman  passed  by,  carrying  a  grip :  I  caught  the 
familiar  whiff,  and  followed  with  my  grip,  for  it  was  Fuller.  He  left 
the  hotel  by  a  side  entrance,  and  at  the  corner  he  turned  up  an  unfre 
quented  street  and  walked  three  blocks  in  a  light  rain  and  a  heavy  dark 
ness,  and  got  into  a  two-horse  hack,  which  of  course  was  waiting  for 
him  by  appointment.  I  took  a  seat  (uninvited)  on  the  trunk  platform 
behind,  and  we  drove  briskly  off.  We  drove  ten  miles,  and  the  hack 
stopped  at  a  way-station  and  was  discharged.  Fuller  got  out  and  took 
a  seat  on  a  barrow  under  the  awning,  as  far  as  he  could  get  from  the 
light;  I  went  inside,  and  watched  the  ticket-office.  Fuller  bought  no 
ticket;  I  bought  none.  Presently  the  train  came  along,  and  he  boarded 
a  car;  I  entered  the  same  car  at  the  other  end,  and  came  down  the  aisle 
and  took  the  seat  behind  him.  When  he  paid  the  conductor  and  named 
his  objective  point,  I  dropped  back  several  seats,  while  the  conductor 
was  changing  a  bill,  and  when  he  came  to  me  I  paid  to  the  same  place 
—  about  a  hundred  miles  westward. 

From  that  time  for  a  week  on  end  he  led  me  a  dance.  He  traveled 
here  and  there  and  yonder  —  always  on  a  general  westward  trend  — 
but  he  was  not  a  woman  after  the  first  day.  He  was  a  laborer,  like  my 
self,  and  wore  bushy  false  whiskers.  His  outfit  was  perfect,  and  he 
could  do  the  character  without  thinking  about  it,  for  he  had  served  the 
trade  for  wages.  His  nearest  friend  could  not  have  recognized  him. 
At  last  he  located  himself  here,  the  obscurest  little  mountain  camp  in 
Montana;  he  has  a  shanty,  and  goes  out  prospecting  daily;  is  gone  all 
day,  and  avoids  society.  I  am  living  at  a  miner's  boarding-house,  and 
it  is  an  awful  place:  the  bunks,  the  food,  the  dirt  —  everything. 

We  have  b.een  here  four  weeks,  and  in  that  time  I  have  seen  him  but 
once;  but  every  night  I  go  over  his  track  and  post  myself.  As  soon  as 


464  The  $30,000   Bequest 

he  engaged  a  shanty  here  I  went  to  a  town  fifty  miles  away  and  tele 
graphed  that  Denver  hotel  to  keep  my  baggage  till  I  should  send  for  it. 
I  need  nothing  here  but  a  change  of  army  shirts,  and  I  brought  that 
with  me. 

SILVER  GULCH,  June  12. 

The  Denver  episode  has  never  found  its  way  here,  I  think.  I  know 
the  most  of  the  men  in  camp,  and  they  have  never  referred  to  it,  at  least 
in  my  hearing.  Fuller  doubtless  feels  quite  safe  in  these  conditions. 
He  has  located  a  claim,  two  miles  away,  in  an  out-of-the-way  place  in 
the  mountains;  it  promises  very  well,  and  he  is  working  it  diligently. 
Ah,  but  the  change  in  him!  He  never  smiles,  and  he  keeps  quite 
to  himself,  consorting  with  no  one  —  he  who  was  so  fond  of  company 
and  so  cheery  only  two  months  ago.  I  have  seen  him  passing  along 
several  times  recently  —  drooping,  forlorn,  the  spring  gone  from  his 
step,  a  pathetic  figure.  He  calls  himself  David  Wilson. 

I  can  trust  him  to  remain  here  until  we  disturb  him.  Since  you 
insist,  I  will  banish  him  again,  but  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  be  unhap- 
pier  than  he  already  is.  I  will  go  back  to  Denver  and  treat  myself  to  a 
little  season  of  comfort,  and  edible  food,  and  endurable  beds,  and  bodily 
decency;  then  I  will  fetch  my  things,  and  notify  poor  papa  Wilson 
to  move  on. 

DENVER,  June  19. 

They  miss  him  here.  They  all  hope  he  is  prospering  in  Mexico,  and 
they  do  not  say  it  just  with  their  mouths,  but  out  of  their  hearts.  You 
know  you  can  always  tell.  I  am  loitering  here  overlong,  I  confess  it. 
But  if  you  were  in  my  place  you  would  have  charity  for  me.  Yes, 
I  know  what  you  will  say,  and  you  are  right :  if  I  were  in  your  place, 
and  carried  your  scalding  memories  in  my  heart  — 

I  will  take  the  night  train  back  to-morrow. 

DENVER,  June  20. 

God  forgive  us,  mother,  we  are  hunting  the  wrong  man  !  I  have 
not  slept  any  all  night.  I  am  now  waiting,  at  dawn,  for  the  morning 
train  —  and  how  the  minutes  drag,  how  they  drag ! 

This  Jacob  Fuller  is  a  cousin  of  the  guilty  one.  How  stupid  we 
have  been  not  to  reflect  that  the  guilty  one  would  never  again  wear  his 
own  name  after  that  fiendish  deed !  The  Denver  Fuller  is  four  years 
younger  than  the  other  one;  he  came  here  a  young  widower  in  '79, 
aged  twenty-one  —  a  year  before  you  were  married;  and  the  documents 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective  Story         465 

to  prove  it  are  innumerable.  Last  night  I  talked  with  familiar  friends 
of  his  who  have  known  him  from  the  day  of  his  arrival.  I  said  nothing, 
but  a  few  days  from  now  I  will  land  him  in  this  town  again,  with  the 
loss  upon  his  mine  made  good;  and  there  will  be  a  banquet,  and  a 
torch-light  procession,  and  there  will  not  be  any  expense  on  anybody 
but  me.  Do  you  call  this  "gush"  ?  I  am  only  a  boy,  as  you  well 
know;  it  is  my  privilege.  By  and  by  I  shall  not  be  a  boy  any  more. 

SILVER  GULCH,  July  3. 

Mother,  he  is  gone !  Gone,  and  left  no  trace.  The  scent  was  cold 
when  I  came.  To-day  I  am  out  of  bed  for  the  first  time  since.  I  wish 
I  were  not  a  boy;  then  I  could  stand  shocks  better.  They  all  think  he 
went  west.  I  start  to-night,  in  a  wagon  —  two  or  three  hours  of  that, 
then  I  get  a  train.  I  don't  know  where  I'm  going,  but  I  must  go;  to 
try  to  keep  still  would  be  torture. 

Of  course  he  has  effaced  himself  with  a  new  name  and  a  disguise. 
This  means  that  I  may  have  to  search  the  whole  globe  to  find  him.  In 
deed  it  is  what  I  expect.  Do  you  see,  mother?  It  is  /that  am  the 
Wandering  Jew.  The  irony  of  it !  We  arranged  that  for  another. 

Think  of  the  difficulties !  And  there  would  be  none  if  I  only  could 
advertise  for  him.  But  if  there  is  any  way  to  do  it  that  would  not 
frighten  him,  I  have  not  been  able  to  think  it  out,  and  I  have  tried  till 
my  brains  are  addled.  "  If  the  gentleman  who  lately  bought  a  mine  in 
Mexico  and  sold  one  in  Denver  will  send  his  address  to"  (to  whom, 
mother!),  "it  will  be  explained  to  him  that  it  was  all  a  mistake;  his 
forgiveness  will  be  asked,  and  full  reparation  made  for  a  loss  which  he 
sustained  in  a  certain  matter."  Do  you  see?  He  would  think  it  a 
trap.  Well,  any  one  would.  If  I  should  say,  "  It  is  now  known  that 
he  was  not  the  man  wanted,  but  another  man  —  a  man  who  once  bore 
the  same  name,  but  discarded  it  for  good  reasons" — would  that 
answer?  But  the  Denver  people  would  wake  up  then  and  say  "  Oho !  " 
and  they  would  remember  about  the  suspicious  greenbacks,  and  say, 
"  Why  did  he  run  away  if  he  wasn't  the  right  man?  —  it  is  too  thin." 
If  I  failed  to  find  him  he  would  be  ruined  there  —  there  where  there  is 
no  taint  upon  him  now.  You  have  a  better  head  than  mine.  Help  me. 

I  have  one  clew,  and  only  one.  I  know  his  handwriting.  If  he  puts 
his  new  false  name  upon  a  hotel  register  and  does  not  disguise  it  too 
much,  it  will  be  valuable  to  me  if  I  ever  run  across  it. 


466  The   $30,000   Bequest 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  June  28,  1898. 

You  already  know  how  well  I  have  searched  the  States  from  Colorado 
to  the  Pacific,  and  how  nearly  I  came  to  getting  him  once.  Well,  I 
have  had  another  close  miss.  It  was  here,  yesterday.  I  struck  his 
trail,  hot)  on  the  street,  and  followed  it  on  a  run  to  a  cheap  hotel.  That 
was  a  costly  mistake;  a  dog  would  have  gone  the  other  way.  But 
I  am  only  part  dog,  and  can  get  very  humanly  stupid  when  excited. 
He  had  been  stopping  in  that  house  ten  days;  I  almost  know,  now, 
that  he  stops  long  nowhere,  the  past  six  or  eight  months,  but  is  rest 
less  and  has  to  keep  moving.  I  understand  that  feeling !  and  I  know 
what  it  is  to  feel  it.  He  still  uses  the  name  he  had  registered  when 
I  came  so  near  catching  him  nine  months  ago  —  "James  Walker"; 
doubtless  the  same  he  adopted  when  he  fled  from  Silver  Gulch.  An 
unpretending  man,  and  has  small  taste  for  fancy  names.  I  recognized 
the  hand  easily,  through  its  slight  disguise.  A  square  man,  and  not 
good  at  shams  and  pretenses. 

They  said  he  was  just  gone,  on  a  journey;  left  no  address;  didn't 
say  where  he  was  going;  looked  frightened  when  asked  to  leave  his 
address;  had  no  baggage  but  a  cheap  valise;  carried  it  off  on  foot  —  a 
"stingy  old  person,  and  not  much  loss  [to  the  house."  "  Old!"  I 
suppose  he  is,  now.  I  hardly  heard;  I  was  there  but  a  moment.  I 
rushed  along  his  trail,  and  it  led  me  to  a  wharf.  Mother,  the  smoke  of 
the  steamer  he  had  taken  was  just  fading  out  on  the  horizon !  I  should 
have  saved  half  an  hour  if  I  had  gone  in  the  right  direction  at  first.  I 
could  have  taken  a  fast  tug,  and  should  have  stood  a  chance  of  catching 
that  vessel.  She  is  bound  for  Melbourne. 

HOPE  CANYON,  CALIFORNIA,  October  3,  1900. 

You  have  a  right  to  complain.  "A  letter  a  year"  is  a  paucity;  I 
freely  acknowledge  it;  but  how  can  one  write  when  there  is  nothing  to 
write  about  but  failures?  No  one  can  keep  it  up;  it  breaks  the  heart. 

I  told  you  —  it  seems  ages  ago,  now  —  how  I  missed  him  at  Mel 
bourne,  and  then  chased  him  all  over  Australasia  for  months  on  end. 

Well,  then,  after  that  I  followed  him  to  India;  almost  saw  him  in 
Bombay;  traced  him  all  around  —  to  Baroda,  Rawal-Pindi,  Lucknow, 
Lahore,  Cawnpore,  Allahabad,  Calcutta,  Madras — -oh,  everywhere; 
week  after  week,  month  after  month,  through  the  dust  and  swelter — 
always  approximately  on  his  track,  sometimes  close  upon  hiin,  yet  never 
catching  him.  And  down  to  Ceylon,  and  then  to —  Never  mind; 
by  and  by  I  will  write  it  all  out. 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          467 

I  chased  him  home  to  California,  and  down  to  Mexico,  and  back 
again  to  California.  Since  then  I  have  been  hunting  him  about  the 
State  from  the  first  of  last  January  down  to  a  month  ago.  I  feel  almost 
sure  he  is  not  far  from  Hope  Canyon;  I  traced  him  to  a  point  thirty 
miles  from  here,  but  there  I  lost  the  trail;  some  one  gave  him  a  lift  in  a 
wagon,  I  suppose. 

I  am  taking  a  rest,  now  —  modified  by  searchings  for  the  lost  trail.  I 
was  tired  to  death,  mother,  and  low-spirited,  and  sometimes  coming  un 
comfortably  near  to  losing  hope;  but  the  miners  in  this  little  camp  are 
good  fellows,  and  I  am  used  to  their  sort  this  long  time  back;  and  their 
breezy  ways  freshen  a  person  up  and  make  him  forget  his  troubles.  I 
have  been  here  a  month.  I  am  cabining  with  a  young  fellow  named 
"  Sammy"  Hilly er,  about  twenty-five,  the  only  son  of  his  mother  — 
like  me  —  and  loves  her  dearly,  and  writes  to  her  every  week  —  part  of 
which  is  like  me.  He  is  a  timid  body,  and  in  the  matter  of  intellect  — 
well,  he  cannot  be  depended  upon  to  set  a  river  on  fire;  but  no  matter,  he 
is  well  liked;  he  is  good  and  fine,  and  it  is  meat  and  bread  and  rest  and 
luxury  to  sit  and  talk  with  him  and  have  a  comradeship  again.  I  wish 
"  James  Walker"  could  have  it.  He  had  friends;  he  liked  company. 
That  brings  up  that  picture  of  him,  the  time  that  I  saw  him  last.  The 
pathos  of  it !  It  comes  before  me  often  and  often.  At  that  very  time, 
poor  thing,  I  was  girding  up  my  conscience  to  make  him  move  on  again ! 

Hillyer's  heart  is  better  than  mine,  better  than  anybody's  in  the  com 
munity,  I  suppose,  for  he  is  the  one  friend  of  the  black  sheep  of  the 
camp  —  Flint  Buckner  —  and  the  only  man  Flint  ever  talks  with  or 
allows  to  talk  with  him.  He  says  he  knows  Flint's  history,  and  that  it 
is  trouble  that  has  made  him  what  he  is,  and  so  one  ought  to  be  as  chari 
table  toward  him  as  one  can.  Now  none  but  a  pretty  large  heart  could 
find  space  to  accommodate  a  lodger  like  Flint  Buckner,  from  all  I  hear 
about  him  outside.  I  think  that  this  one  detail  will  give  you  a  better 
idea  of  Sammy's  character  than  any  labored-out  description  I  could 
furnish  you  of  him.  In  one  of  our  talks  he  said  something  about  like 
this:  "  Flint  is  a  kinsman  of  mine,  and  he  pours  out  all  his  troubles  to 
me  —  empties  his  breast  from  time  to  time,  or  I  reckon  it  would  burst. 
There  couldn't  be  any  unhappier  man,  Archy  Stillman;  his  life  has 
been  made  up  of  misery  of  mind  —  he  isn't  near  as  old  as  he  looks. 
He  has  lost  the  feel  of  reposefulness  and  peace  —  oh,  years  and  years 
ago !  He  doesn't  know  what  good  luck  is  —  never  has  had  any;  often 
says  he  wishes  he  was  in  the  other  hell,  he  is  so  fired  of  this  one." 


CHAPTER   IV 

No  real  gentleman  will  tell  the  naked  truth  in  the  presence  of  ladies 

IT  was  a  crisp  and  spicy  morning  in  early  October. 
The  lilacs  and  laburnums,  lit  with  the  glory-fires 
of  autumn,  hung  burning  and  flashing  in  the  upper 
air,  a  fairy  bridge  provided  by  kind  Nature  for  the 
wingless  wild  things  that  have  their  homes  in  the 
tree-tops  and  would  visit  together;  the  larch  and 
the  pomegranate  flung  their  purple  and  yellow 
flames  in  brilliant  broad  splashes  along  the  slanting 
sweep  of  the  woodland;  the  sensuous  fragrance  of 
innumerable  deciduous  flowers  rose  upon  the  swoon 
ing  atmosphere;  far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary 
oesophagus*  slept  upon  motionless  wing;  every- 


*  [From  the  Springfield  Republican  April  12,  1902.] 
To  the  Editor  of  the  Republican  :  — 

One  of  your  citizens  has  asked  me  a  question  about  the  "oesopha 
gus,"  and  I  wish  to  answer  him  through  you.  This  in  the  hope  that  the 
answer  will  get  around,  and  save  me  some  penmanship,  for  I  have 
already  replied  to  the  same  question  more  than  several  times,  and  am 
not  getting  as  much  holiday  as  I  ought  to  have. 

I  published  a  short  story  lately,  and  it  was  in  that  that  I  put  the 
oesophagus.  I  will  say  privately  that  I  expected  it  to  bother  some  peo 
ple—in  fact,  that  was  the  intention,  —  but  the  harvest  has  been  larger 
than  I  was  calculating  upon.  The  oesophagus  has  gathered  in  the 


A   Double-Barreled  Detective   Story         469 

where  brooded  stillness,  serenity,  and  the  peace  of 
God. 

October  is  the  time- —  1900;   Hope  Canyon  is  the 
place,    a   silver-mining   camp    away    down    in   the 


guilty  and  the  innocent  alike,  whereas  I  was  only  fishing  for  the  inno 
cent  —  the  innocent  and  confiding.  I  knew  a  few  of  these  would  write 
and  ask  me  ;  that  would  give  me  but  little  trouble ;  but  I  was  not  ex 
pecting  that  the  wise  and  the  learned  would  call  upon  me  for  succor. 
However,  that  has  happened,  and  it  is  time  for  me  to  speak  up  and 
stop  the  inquiries  if  I  can,  for  letter-writing  is  not  restful  to  me,  and  I 
am  not  having  so  much  fun  out  of  this  thing  as  I  counted  on.  That 
you  may  understand  the  situation,  I  will  insert  a  couple  of  sample  in 
quiries.  The  first  is  from  a  public  instructor  in  the  Philippines  : 

SANTA  CRUZ,  Ilocos  Sur,  P.  I. 

February  13,  1902. 

My  Dear  Sir:  I  have  just  been  reading  the  first  part  of  your  latest 
story,  entitled  "A  Double-barreled  Detective  Story,"  and  am  very  much 
delighted  with  it.  In  Part  IV,  page  264,  Harper's  Magazine  for  Janu 
ary,  occurs  this  passage:  "  far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary  '  oesophagus' 
slept,  upon  motionless  wing;  everywhere  brooded  stillness,  serenity,  and 
the  peace  of  God."  Now,  there  is  one  word  I  do  not  understand, 
namely,  "oesophagus."  My  only  work  of  reference  is  the  "Standard 
Dictionary,"  but  that  fails  to  explain  the  meaning.  If  you  can  spare 
the  time,  I  would  be  glad  to  have  the  meaning  cleared  up,  as  I  consider 
the  passage  a  very  touching  and  beautiful  one.  It  may  seem  foolish  to 
you,  but  consider  my  lack  of  means  away  out  in  the  northern  part  of 
Luzon.  Yours  very  truly. 

Do  you  notice?  Nothing  in  the  paragraph  disturbed  him  but  that 
one  word.  It  shows  that  that  paragraph  was  most  ably  constructed  foi 
the  deception  it  was  intended  to  put  upon  the  reader.  It  was  my  inten 
tion  that  it  should  read  plausibly,  and  it  is  now  plain  that  it  does;  it  was 
my  intention  that  it  should  be  emotional  and  touching,  and  you  see, 
yourself,  that  it  fetched  this  public  instructor.  Alas,  if  I  had  but  left 
that  one  treacherous  word  out,  I  should  have  scored!  scored  every 
where;  and  the  paragraph  would  have  slidden  through  every  reader's 
sensibilities  like  oil,  and  left  not  a  suspicion  behind. 

The  other  sample  inquiry  is  from  a  professor  in  a  New  England  uni 
versity.  It  contains  one  naughty  word  (which  I  cannot  bear  to  sup- 


470  The  $30,000   Bequest 

Esmeralda  region.  It  is  a  secluded  spot,  high  and 
remote ;  recent  as  to  discovery ;  thought  by  its  oc 
cupants  to  be  rich  in  metal  —  a  year  or  two's  pros 
pecting  will  decide  that  matter  one  way  or  the 


press),  but  he  is  not  in  the  theological  department,  so  it  is  no  harm: — • 
Dear  Mr.  Clemens :   ' '  Far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary  oesophagus 
slept  upon  motionless  wing." 

It  is  not  often  I  get  a  chance  to  read  much  periodical  literature,  but 
I  have  just  gone  through  at  this  belated  period,  with  much  gratification 
and  edification,  your  "  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story." 

But  what  in  hell  is  an  oesophagus?  I  keep  one  myself,  but  it  never 
sleeps  in  the  air  or  anywhere  else.  My  profession  is  to  deal  with  words, 
and  oesophagus  interested  me  the  moment  I  lighted  upon  it.  But  as  a 
companion  of  my  youth  used  to  say,  "I'll  be  eternally,  co-eternally 
cussed  "  if  I  can  make  it  out.  Is  it  a  joke,  or  I  an  ignoramus? 

Between  you  and  me,  I  was  almost  ashamed  of  having  fooled  that 
man,  but  for  pride's  sake  I  was  not  going  to  say  so.  I  wrote  and  told 
him  it  was  a  joke  —  and  that  is  what  I  am  now  saying  to  my  Springfield 
inquirer.  And  I  told  him  to  carefully  read  the  whole  paragraph,  and 
he  would  find  not  a  vestige  of  sense  in  any  detail  of  it.  This  also  I 
commend  to  my  Springfield  inquirer. 

I  have  confessed.  I  am  sorry  —  partially.  I  will  not  do  so  any 
more  —  for  the  present.  Don't  ask  me  any  more  questions;  let  the 
oesophagus  have  a  rest  —  on  his  same  old  motionless  wing. 

MARK  TWAIN. 

New   York  City,  April  10,  1902. 

(Editorial.) 

t&"The  "Double-Barreled  Detective  Story,"  which  appeared  in  Har 
per's  Mag.  for  January  and  February  last,  is  the  most  elaborate  of  bur 
lesques  on  detective  fiction,  with  striking  melodramatic  passages  in  which 
it  is  difficult  to  detect  the  deception,  so  ably  is  it  done.  But  the  illusion 
ought  not  to  endure  even  the  first  incident  in  the  February  number. 
As  for  the  paragraph  which  has  so  admirably  illustrated  the  skill  of  Mr. 
Clemens's  ensemble  and  the  carelessness  of  readers,  here  it  is: — 

It  was  a  crisp  and  spicy  morning  in  early  October.  The  lilacs  and 
laburnums,  lit  with  the  glory-fires  of  autumn,  hung  burning  and  flashing 
In  the  upper  air,  a  fairy  bridge  provided  by  kind  nature  for  the  wingless 
wild  things  that  have  their  home  in  the  tree-tops  and  would  visit  to- 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          471 

other.  For  inhabitants,  the  camp  has  about  two 
hundred  miners,  one  white  woman  and  child, 
several  Chinese  washermen,  five  squaws,  and  a 
dozen  vagrant  buck  Indians  in  rabbit-skin  robes, 
battered  plug  hats,  and  tin-can  necklaces.  There  are 
no  mills  as  yet;  no  church,  no  newspaper.  The 
camp  has  existed  but  two  years ;  it  has  made  no  big 
strike ;  the  world  is  ignorant  of  its  name  and  place. 

On  both  sides  of  the  canyon  the  mountains  rise 
wall-like,  three  thousand  feet,  and  the  long  spiral  of 
straggling  huts  down  in  its  narrow  bottom  gets  a 
kiss  from  the  sun  only  once  a  day,  when  he  sails 
over  at  noon,  The  village  is  a  couple  of  miles  long; 

gather;  the  larch  and  the  pomegranate  flung  their  purple  and  yellow 
flames  in  brilliant  broad  splashes  along  the  slanting  sweep  of  the  wood 
land;  the  sensuous  fragrance  of  innumerable  deciduous  flowers  rose 
upon  the  swooning  atmosphere;  far  in  the  empty  sky  a  solitary  oeso 
phagus  slept  upon  motionless  wing;  everywhere  brooded  stillness, 
serenity,  and  the  peace  of  God. 

The  success  of  Mark  Twain's  joke  recalls  to  mind  his  story  of  the 
petrified  man  in  the  cavern,  whom  he  described  most  punctiliously,  first 
giving  a  picture  of  the  scene,  its  impressive  solitude,  and  all  that;  then 
going  on  to  describe  the  majesty  of  the  figure,  casually  mentioning 
that  the  thumb  of  his  right  hand  rested  against  the  side  of  his  nose; 
then  after  further  description  observing  that  the  fingers  of  the  right 
hand  were  extended  in  a  radiating  fashion;  and,  recurring  to  the  digni 
fied  attitude  and  position  of  the  man,  incidentally  remarked  that  the 
thumb  of  the  left  hand  was  in  contact  with  the  little  finger  of  the  right 
—  and  so  on.  But  it  was  so  ingeniously  written  that  Mark,  relating  the 
history  years  later  in  an  article  which  appeared  in  that  excellent  maga 
zine  of  the  past,  the  Galaxy,  declared  that  no  one  ever  found  out  the 
joke,  and,  if  we  remember  aright,  that  that  astonishing  old  mockery 
was  actually  looked  for  in  the  region  where  he,  as  a  Nevada  newspaper 
editor,  had  located  it.  It  is  certain  that  Mark  Twain's  jumping  frog 
has  a  good  many  more  "  pints"  than  any  other  frog. 


472  The  $30,000   Bequest 

the  cabins  stand  well  apart  from  each  other,  The 
tavern  is  the  only  "  frame  "  house  —  the  only  house, 
one  might  say.  It  occupies  a  central  position,  and 
is  the  evening  resort  of  the  population.  They  drink 
there,  and  play  seven-up  and  dominoes;  also  bil 
liards,  for  there  is  a  table,  crossed  all  over  with  torn 
places  repaired  with  court-plaster;  there  are  some 
cues,  but  no  leathers;  some  chipped  balls  which 
clatter  when  they  run,  and  do  not  slow  up  gradually, 
but  stop  suddenly  and  sit  down ;  there  is  a  part  of  a 
cube  of  chalk,  with  a  projecting  jag  of  flint  in  it; 
and  the  man  who  can  score  six  on  a  single  break 
can  set  up  the  drinks  at  the  bar's  expense. 

Flint  Buckner's  cabin  was  the  last  one  of  the  vil 
lage,  going  south ;  his  silver  claim  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  village,  northward,  and  a  little  beyond 
the  last  hut  in  that  direction.  He  was  a  sour 
creature,  unsociable,  and  had  no  companionships. 
People  who  had  tried  to  get  acquainted  with  him 
had  regretted  it  and  dropped  him.  His  history  was 
not  known.  Some  believed  that  Sammy  Hillyer 
knew  it;  others  said  no.  If  asked,  Hillyer  said  no, 
he  was  not  acquainted  with  it.  Flint  had  a  meek 
English  youth  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  with  him, 
whom  he  treated  roughly,  both  in  public  and  in 
private;  and  of  course  this  lad  was  applied  to  for 
information,  but  with  no  success.  Fetlock  Jones  — 
name  of  the  youth  —  said  that  Flint  picked  him  up 
on  a  prospecting  tramp,  and  as  he  had  neither  home 
nor  friends  in  America,  he  had  found  it  wise  to  stay 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          473 

and  take  Buckner's  hard  usage  for  the  sake  of  the 
salary,  which  was  bacon  and  beans.  Further  than 
this  he  could  offer  no  testimony. 

Fetlock  had  been  in  this  slavery  for  a  month  now, 
and  under  his  meek  exterior  he  was  slowly  consum 
ing  to  a  cinder  with  the  insults  and  humiliations 
which  his  master  had  put  upon  him.  For  the  meek 
suffer  bitterly  from  these  hurts ;  more  bitterly,  per 
haps,  than  do  the  manlier  sort,  who  can  burst  out 
and  get  relief  with  words  or  blows  when  the  limit  of 
endurance  has  been  reached.  Good-hearted  people 
wanted  to  help  Fetlock  out  of  his  trouble,  and  tried 
to  get  him  to  leave  Buckner;  but  the  boy  showed 
fright  at  the  thought,  and  said  he  "dasn't."  Pat 
Riley  urged  him,  and  said: 

1  You    leave  the  damned    hunks  and  come  wi^h 
me;  don't  you  be  afraid.     I'll  take  care  of  him" 

The  boy  thanked  him  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  but 
shuddered  and  said  he  "dasn't  risk  it";  he  said 
Flint  would  catch  him  alone,  some  time,  in  the 
night,  and  then —  "  Oh,  it  makes  me  sick,  Mr. 
Riley,  to  think  of  it." 

Others  said,  "Run  away  from  him;  we'll  stake 
you ;  skip  out  for  the  coast  some  night. ' '  But  all 
these  suggestions  failed;  he  said  Flint  would  hunt 
him  down  and  fetch  him  back,  just  for  meanness. 

The  people  could  not  understand  this.  The  boy's 
miseries  went  steadily  on,  week  after  week.  It  is 
quite  likely  that  the  people  would  have  understood 
if  they  had  known  how  he  was  employing  his  spare 


474  The   $30,000   Bequest 

time.  He  slept  in  an  out-cabin  near  Flint's;  and 
there,  nights,  he  nursed  his  bruises  and  his  humilia 
tions,  and  studied  and  studied  over  a  single  problem 

—  how  he  could  murder  Flint  Buckner  and  not  be 
found  out.     It  was  the    only  joy  he  had    in   life; 
these  hours  were  the  only  ones  in  the  twenty-four 
which   he   looked   forward    to   with   eagerness   and 
spent  in  happiness. 

He  thought  of  poison.  No — -that  would  not 
serve;  the  inquest  would  reveal  where  it  was  pro 
cured  and  who  had  procured  it.  He  thought  of  a 
shot  in  the  back  in  a  lonely  place  when  Flint  would 
be  homeward  bound  at  midnight  —  his  unvarying 
hour  for  the  trip.  No  —  somebody  might  be  near, 
and  catch  him.  He  thought  of  stabbing  him  in  his 
sleep.  No  —  he  might  strike  an  inefficient  blow, 
and  Flint  would  seize  him.  He  examined  a  hundred 
different  ways  —  none  of  them  would  answer ;  for  in 
even  the  very  obscurest  and  secretest  of  them  there 
was  always  the  fatal  defect  of  a  risk,  a  chance,  a 
possibility  that  he  might  be  found  out.  He  would 
have  none  of  that. 

But  he  was  patient,  endlessly  patient.  There  was 
no  hurry,  he  said  to  himself.  He  would  never  leave 
Flint  till  he  left  him  a  corpse ;  there  was  no  hurry 

—  he  would  find  the  way.     It  was  somewhere,  and 
he  would  endure  shame  and  pain  and  misery  until  he 
found  it.     Yes,  somewhere  there  was  a  way  which 
would  leave  not  a  trace,  not  even  the  faintest  clew  to 
the  murderer  —  there  was  no  hurry  —  he  would  find 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          475 

that  way,  and  then  —  oh,  then,  it  would  just  be 
good  to  be  alive !  Meantime  he  would  diligently 
keep  up  his  reputation  for  meekness;  and  also,  as 
always  theretofore,  he  would  allow  no  one  to  hear 
him  say  a  resentful  or  offensive  thing  about  his 
oppressor. 

Two  days  before  the  before-mentioned  October 
morning  Flint  had  bought  some  things,  and  he  and 
Fetlock  had  brought  them  home  to  Flint's  cabin:  a 
fresh  box  of  candles,  which  they  put  in  the  corner; 
a  tin  can  of  blasting-powder,  which  they  placed  upon 
the  candle-box;  a  keg  of  blasting-powder,  which 
they  placed  under  Flint's  bunk;  a  huge  coil  of  fuse, 
which  they  hung  on  a  peg,  Fetlock  reasoned  that 
Flint's  mining  operations  had  outgrown  the  pick, 
and  that  blasting  was  about  to  begin  now.  He  had 
seen  blasting  done,  and  he  had  a  notion  of  the  pro 
cess,  but  he  had  never  helped  in  it.  His  conjecture 
was  right  —  blasting-time  had  come.  In  the  morn 
ing  the  pair  carried  fuse,  drills,  and  the  powder-can 
to  the  shaft;  it  was  now  eight  feet  deep,  and  to 
get  into  it  and  out  of  it  a  short  ladder  was  used. 
They  descended,  and  by  command  Fetlock  held  the 
drill  —  without  any  instructions  as  to  the  right  way 
to  hold  it  —  and  Flint  proceeded  to  strike.  The 
sledge  came  down;  the  drill  sprang  out  of  Fetlock's 
hand,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course. 

'  You  mangy  son  of  a  nigger,  is  that  any  way  to 
hold  a  drill?  Pick  it  up!  Stand  it  up!  There  — 
hold  fast.  D you  !  /'//  teach  you  !  " 


476  The   $30,000   Bequest 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  drilling  was  finished. 

*'Now,  then,  charge  it." 

The  boy  started  to  pour  in  the  powder. 

14  Idiot!" 

A  heavy  bat  on  the  jaw  laid  the  lad  out. 

"  Get  up!  You  can't  lie  sniveling  there.  Now, 
then,  stick  in  the  fuse  first.  Now  put  in  the 
powder.  Hold  on,  hold  on !  Are  you  going  to  fill 
the  hole  all  up  ?  Of  all  the  sap-headed  milksops  I 
—  Put  in  some  dirt !  Put  in  some  gravel !  Tamp 
it  down!  Hold  on,  hold  on!  Oh,  great  Scott! 
get  out  of  the  way !  ' '  He  snatched  the  iron  and 
tamped  the  charge  himself,  meantime  cursing  and 
blaspheming  like  a  fiend.  Then  he  fired  the  fuse, 
climbed  out  of  the  shaft,  and  ran  fifty  yards  away, 
Fetlock  following.  They  stood  waiting  a  few  min 
utes,  then  a  great  volume  of  smoke  and  rocks  burst 
high  into  the  air  with  a  thunderous  explosion ;  after 
a  little  there  was  a  shower  of  descending  stones; 
then  all  was  serene  again. 

"  I  wish  to  God  you'd  been  in  it!  "  remarked  the 
master. 

They  went  down  the  shaft,  cleaned  it  out,  drilled 
another  hole,  and  put  in  another  charge. 

11  Look  here  !  How  much  fuse  are  you  proposing 
to  waste?  Don't  you  know  how  to  time  a  fuse?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  You  don't !  Well,  if  you  don't  beat  anything  / 
ever  saw  !  ' ' 

He  climbed  out  of  the  shaft  and  spoke  down : 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          477 

"Well,  idiot,  are  you  going  to  be  all  day?  Cut 
the  fuse  and  light  it !  " 

The  trembling  creature  began, 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I  - 

"  You  talk  back  to  me  ?     Cut  it  and  light  it !  " 

The  boy  cut  and  lit. 

"  Ger-reat  Scott !  a  one-minute  fuse !  I  wish  you 
were  in  —  " 

In  his  rage  he  snatched  the  ladder  out  of  the  shaft 
and  ran.  The  boy  was  aghast. 

"Oh,  my  God!  Help!  Help!  Oh,  save  me !" 
he  implored.  "  Oh  what  can  I  do !  What  can 
I  do!" 

He  backed  against  the  wall  as  tightly  as  he  could  ; 
the  sputtering  fuse  frightened  the  voice  out  of  him ; 
his  breath  stood  still ;  he  stood  gazing  and  impotent ; 
in  two  seconds,  three  seconds,  four  he  would  be  fly 
ing  toward  the  sky  torn  to  fragments.  Then  he  had 
an  inspiration.  He  sprang  at  the  fuse  ;  severed  the 
inch  of  it  that  was  left  above  ground,  and  was  saved. 

He  sank  down  limp  and  half  lifeless  with  fright, 
his  strength  gone  ;  but  he  muttered  with  a  deep  joy  : 

"  He  has  learnt  me !  I  knew  there  was  a  way,  if 
I  would  wait." 

After  a  matter  of  five  minutes  Buckner  stole  to  the 
shaft,  looking  worried  and  uneasy,  and  peered  down 
into  it.  He  took  in  the  situation;  he  saw  what  had 
happened.  He  lowered  the  ladder,  and  the  boy 
dragged  himself  weakly  up  it.  He  was  very  white. 
His  appearance  added  something  to  Buckner's  un- 


478  The   $30,000   Bequest 

comfortable  state,  and  he  said,  with  a  show  of  regret 
and  sympathy  which  sat  upon  him  awkwardly  from 
lack  of  practice : 

"  It  was  an  accident,  you  know.  Don't  say  any 
thing  about  it  to  anybody;  I  was  excited,  and  didn't 
notice  what  I  was  doing.  You're  not  looking  well; 
you've  worked  enough  for  to-day;  go  down  to  my 
cabin  and  eat  what  you  want,  and  rest.  It's  just  an 
accident,  you  know,  on  account  of  my  being 
excited." 

"  It  scared  me,"  said  the  lad,  as  he  started  away; 
"  but  I  learnt  something,  so  I  don't  mind  it." 

"Damned  easy  to  please!"  muttered  Buckner, 
following  him  with  his  eye.  "  I  wonder  if  he'll  tell? 
Mightn't  he?  ...  I  wish  it  had  killed  him." 

The  boy  took  no  advantage  of  his  holiday  in  the 
matter  of  resting;  he  employed  it  in  work,  eager 
and  feverish  and  happy  work.  A  thick  growth  of 
chaparral  extended  down  the  mountain-side  clear  to 
Flint's  cabin;  the  most  of  Fetlock's  labor  was  done 
in  the  dark  intricacies  of  that  stubborn  growth ;  the 
rest  of  it  was  done  in  his  own  shanty.  At  last  all 
was  complete,  and  he  said : 

"  If  he's  got  any  suspicions  that  I'm  going  to  tell 
on  him,  he  won't  keep  them  long,  to-morrow.  He 
will  see  that  I  am  the  same  milksop  as  I  always  was 
—  all  day  and  the  next.  And  the  day  after  to-mor 
row  night  there'll  be  an  end  of  him ;  nobody  will 
ever  guess  who  finished  him  up  nor  how  it  was  done. 
He  dropped  me  the  idea  his  own  self,  and  that's  odd." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  next  day  came  and  went. 
It  is  now  almost  midnight,  and  in  five  min 
utes  the  new  morning  will  begin.  The  scene  is  in 
the  tavern  billiard -room.  Rough  men  in  rough 
clothing,  slouch  hats,  breeches  stuffed  into  boot- 
tops,  some  with  vests,  none  with  coats,  are  grouped 
about  the  boiler-iron  stove,  which  has  ruddy  cheeks 
and  is  distributing  a  grateful  warmth  ;  the  billiard 
balls  are  clacking ;  there  is  no  other  sound — that  is, 
within ;  the  wind  is  fitfully  moaning  without.  The 
men  look  bored  ;  also  expectant.  A  hulking  broad- 
shouldered  miner,  of  middle  age,  with  grizzled  whis 
kers,  and  an  unfriendly  eye  set  in  an  unsociable  face, 
rises,  slips  a  coil  of  fuse  upon  his  arm,  gathers  up 
some  other  personal  properties,  and  departs  without 
word  or  greeting  to  anybody.  It  is  Flint  Buckner.  As 
the  door  closes  behind  him  a  buzz  of  talk  breaks  out. 

"  The  regularest  man  that  ever  was,"  said  Jake 
Parker,  the  blacksmith :  "  you  can  tell  when  it's 
twelve  just  by  him  leaving,  without  looking  at  your 
Waterbury." 

"  And  it's  the  only  virtue  he's  got,  as  fur  as  I 
know,"  said  Peter  Hawes,  miner. 


480  The   $30.000    Bequest 

"  He's  just  a  blight  on  this  society/'  said  Wells- 
Fargo's  man,  Ferguson.  "  If  I  was  running  this 
shop  I'd  make  him  say  something,  some  time  or 
other,  orvamos  the  ranch."  This  with  a  suggestive 
glance  at  the  barkeeper,  who  did  not  choose  to  see 
it,  since  the  man  under  discussion  was  a  good  cus 
tomer,  and  went  home  pretty  well  set  up,  every 
night,  with  refreshments  furnished  from  the  bar. 

"  Say,"  said  Ham  Sandwich,  miner,  "does  any 
of  you  boys  ever  recollect  of  him  asking  you  to  take 
a  drink?" 

; '  Him  ?     Flint  Buckner  ?     Oh,  Laura !  ' ' 

This  sarcastic  rejoinder  came  in  a  spontaneous 
general  outburst  in  one  form  of  words  or  another 
from  the  crowd.  After  a  brief  silence,  Pat  Riley, 
miner,  said: 

"  He's  the  15-puzzle,  that  cuss.  And  his  boy's 
another  one.  /can't  make  them  out." 

"  Nor  anybody  else,"  said  Ham  Sandwich;  "  and 
if  they  are  I5~puzzles,  how  are  you  going  to  rank 
up  that  other  one?  When  it  comes  to  A  I  right- 
down  solid  mysteriousness,  he  lays  over  both  of 
them.  Easy  —  don't  he?" 

14  You  bet!" 

Everybody  said  it.  Every  man  but  one.  He 
was  the  new-comer — Peterson.  He  ordered  the 
drinks  all  round,  and  asked  who  No.  3  might  be. 
All  answered  at  once,  "  Archy  Stillman !  " 

"  Is  he  a  mystery?  "   asked  Peterson. 

"Is  he  a  mystery?     Is  Archy  Stillman  a  mys- 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          481 

tery?  "  said  Wells-Fargo's  man,  Ferguson.  '*  Why, 
the  fourth  dimension's  foolishness  to  ///;;/." 

For  Ferguson  was  learned. 

Peterson  wanted  to  hear  all  about  him ;  everybody 
wanted  to  tell  him;  everybody  began.  But  Billy 
Stevens,  the  barkeeper,  called  the  house  to  order, 
and  said  one  at  a  time  was  best.  He  distributed  the 
drinks,  and  appointed  Ferguson  to  lead.  Ferguson 
said: 

"  Well,  he's  a  boy.  And  that  is  just  about  all  we 
know  about  him.  You  can  pump  him  till  you  are 
tired;  it  ain't  any  use;  you  won't  get  anything. 
At  least  about  his  intentions,  or  line  of  business, 
or  where  he's  from,  and  such  things  as  that.  And 
as  for  getting  at  the  nature  and  get-up  of  his  main 
big  chief  mystery,  why,  he'll  just  change  the  subject, 
that's  all.  You  can  guess  till  you're  black  in  the  face 
—  it's  your  privilege  —  but  suppose  you  do,  where  do 
you  arrive  at  ?  Nowhere,  as  near  as  I  can  make  out. ' ' 

"  What  is  his  big  chief  one?  " 

"  Sight,  maybe.  Hearing,  maybe.  Instinct, 
maybe.  Magic,  maybe.  Take  your  choice  — 
grown-ups,  twenty-five;  children  and  servants,  half 
price.  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  he  can  do.  You  can 
start  here,  and  just  disappear;  you  can  go  and  hide 
wherever  you  want  to,  I  don't  care  where  it  is, 
nor  how  far  —  and  he'll  go  straight  and  put  his 
finger  on  you." 

"You  don't  mean  it !  " 

"  I  just  do,  though.    Weather's  nothing  to  him— • 


482  The   $30,000   Bequest 

elemental  conditions  is  nothing  to  him  —  he  don't 
even  take  notice  of  them." 

"Oh,  come!     Dark?     Rain?      Snow?      Hey?'1 

"It's  all  the  same  to  him.  He  don't  give  a 
damn." 

"Oh,  say  —  including  fog,  per'aps?" 

"Fog!  he's  got  an  eye  't  can  plunk  through  it 
like  a  bullet." 

"  Now,  boys,  honor  bright,  what's  he  giving  me?" 

"It's  a  fact!"  they  all  shouted.  "Go  on, 
Wells-Fargo." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  can  leave  him  here,  chatting  with 
the  boys,  and  you  can  slip  out  and  go  to  any  cabin 
in  this  camp  and  open  a  book  —  yes,  sir,  a  dozen  of 
them  —  and  take  the  page  in  your  memory,  and 
he'll  start  out  and  go  straight  to  that  cabin  and  open 
every  one  of  them  books  at  the  right  page,  and  call 
it  off,  and  never  make  a  mistake." 

"  He  must  be  the  devil !" 

"More  than  one  has  thought  it.  Now  I'll  tell 
you  a  perfectly  wonderful  thing  that  he  done.  The 
other  night  he  —  " 

There  was  a  sudden  great  murmur  of  sounds  out 
side,  the  door  flew  open,  and  an  excited  crowd  burst 
in,  with  the  camp's  one  white  woman  in  the  lead 
and  crying: 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !  she's  lost  and  gone  !  For 
the  love  of  God  help  me  to  find  Archy  Stillman; 
we've  hunted  everywhere!  " 

Said  the  barkeeper: 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          483 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,  Mrs.  Hogan,  and  don't 
worry.  He  asked  for  a  bed  three  hours  ago,  tuck 
ered  out  tramping  the  trails  the  way  he's  always  do 
ing,  and  went  upstairs.  Ham  Sandwich,  run  up 
and  roust  him  out;  he's  in  No.  14." 

The  youth  was  soon  downstairs  and  ready.  He 
asked  Mrs.  Hogan  for  particulars. 

"  Bless  you,  dear,  there  ain't  any;  I  wish  there 
was.  I  put  her  to  sleep  at  seven  in  the  evening, 
and  when  I  went  in  there  an  hour  ago  to  go  to  bed 
myself,  she  was  gone.  I  rushed  for  your  cabin, 
dear,  and  you  wasn't  there,  and  I've  hunted  for  you 
ever  since,  at  every  cabin  down  the  gulch,  and  now 
I've  come  up  again,  and  I'm  that  distracted  and 
scared  and  heart-broke;  but,  thanks  to  God,  I've 
found  you  at  last,  dear  heart,  and  you'll  find  my 
child.  Come  on!  come  quick!  " 

11  Move  right  along;  I'm  with  you,  madam.  Go 
to  your  cabin  first." 

The  whole  company  streamed  out  to  join  the 
hunt.  All  the  southern  half  of  the  village  was  up, 
a  hundred  men  strong,  and  waiting  outside,  a  vague 
dark  mass  sprinkled  with  twinkling  lanterns.  The 
mass  fell  into  columns  by  threes  and  fours  to  accom 
modate  itself  to  the  narrow  road,  and  strode  briskly 
along  southward  in  the  wake  of  the  leaders.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  Hogan  cabin  was  reached. 

"  There's  the  bunk,"  said  Mrs.  Hogan;  "  there's 
where  she  was;  it's  where  I  laid  her  at  seven 
o'clock;  but  where  she  is  now,  God  only  knows." 


484  The  $30,000   Bequest 

"Hand  me  a  lantern,"  said  Archy.  He  set  it 
on  the  hard  earth  floor  and  knelt  by  it,  pretending 
to  examine  the  ground  closely.  "Here's  her 
track,"  he  said,  touching  the  ground  here  and  there 
and  yonder  with  his  finger.  "  Do  you  see?  " 

Several  of  the  company  dropped  upon  their  knees 
and  did  their  best  to  see.  One  or  two  thought  they 
discerned  something  like  a  track;  the  others  shook 
their  heads  and  confessed  that  the  smooth  hard 
surface  had  no  marks  upon  it  which  their  eyes  were 
sharp  enough  to  discover.  One  said,  "Maybe  a 
child's  foot  could  make  a  mark  on  it,  but  7  don't 
see  how." 

Young  Stillman  stepped  outside,  held  the  light  to 
the  ground,  turned  leftward,  and  moved  three  steps, 
closely  examining;  then  said,  "I've  got  the  direc 
tion —  come  along;  take  the  lantern,  somebody." 

He  strode  off  swiftly  southward,  the  files  follow 
ing,  swaying  and  bending  in  and  out  with  the  deep 
curves  of  the  gorge.  Thus  a  mile,  and  the  mouth 
of  the  gorge  was  reached;  before  them  stretched 
the  sage-brush  plain,  dim,  vast,  and  vague.  Still 
man  called  a  halt,  saying,  "  We  mustn't  start  wrong, 
now;  we  must  take  the  direction  again." 

He  took  a  lantern  and  examined  the  ground  for  a 
matter  of  twenty  yards ;  then  said,  "  Come  on ;  it's  all 
right,"  and  gave  up  the  lantern.  In  and  out  among 
the  sage-bushes  he  marched,  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  bear 
ing  gradually  to  the  right ;  then  took  a  new  direction 
and  made  another  great  semicircle;  then  changed 


A   Double- Barreled   Detective   Story          485 

again  and  moved  due  west  nearly  half  a  mile  —  and 
stopped. 

44  She  gave  it  up,  here,  poor  little  chap.  Hold  the 
lantern.  You  can  see  where  she  sat." 

But  this  was  in  a  slick  alkali  flat  which  was  sur 
faced  like  steel,  and  no  person  in  the  party  was 
quite  hardy  enough  to  claim  an  eyesight  that  could 
detect  the  track  of  a  cushion  on  a  veneer  like  that. 
The  bereaved  mother  fell  upon  her  knees  and  kissed 
the  spot,  lamenting. 

4  4  But  where  is  she ,  then  ?  ' '  some  one  said .  *  *  She 
didn't  stay  here.  We  can  see  that  much,  anyway." 

Stillman  moved  about  in  a  circle  around  the  place, 
with  the  lantern,  pretending  to  hunt  for  tracks. 

44  Well!  "  he  said  presently,  in  an  annoyed  tone, 
44 1  don't  understand  it."  He  examined  again. 
44  No  use.  She  was  here  —  that's  certain;  she 
never  walked  away  from  here  —  and  that's  certain. 
It's  a  puzzle;  I  can't  make  it  out." 

The  mother  lost  heart  then. 

44  Oh,  my  God!  oh,  blessed  Virgin!  some  flying 
beast  has  got  her.  I'll  never  see  her  again !  " 

44  Ah,  don't  give  up,"  said  Archy.  44  We'll  find 
her  —  don't  give  up." 

44  God  bless  you  for  the  words,  Archy  Stillman !  " 
and  she  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it  fervently. 

Peterson,  the  new-comer,  whispered  satirically  in 
Ferguson's  ear: 

1 4  Wonderful  performance  to  find  this  place, 
wasn't  it?  Hardly  worth  while  to  come  so  far, 


486  The  $30,000   Bequest 

though ;  any  other  supposititious  place  would  have 
answered  just  as  well  —  hey  ?  ' ' 

Ferguson  was  not  pleased  with  the  innuendo.  He 
said,  with  some  warmth: 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  the  child  hasn't 
been  here?  I  tell  you  the  child  has  been  here! 
Now  if  you  want  to  get  yourself  into  as  tidy  a 
little  fuss  as —  " 

"  All  right !  "  sang  out  Stillman.  "  Come,  every 
body,  and  look  at  this !  It  was  right  under  our 
noses  all  the  time,  and  we  didn't  see  it." 

There  was  a  general  plunge  for  the  ground  at  the 
place  where  the  child  was  alleged  to  have  rested, 
and  many  eyes  tried  hard  and  hopefully  to  see  the 
thing  that  Archy's  finger  was  resting  upon.  There 
was  a  pause,  then  a  several-barreled  sigh  of  disap 
pointment.  Pat  Riley  and  Ham  Sandwich  said,  in 
the  one  breath : 

"  What  is  it,  Archy?     There's  nothing  here." 

"  Nothing?  Do  you  call  that  nothing?"  and  he 
swiftly  traced  upon  the  ground  a  form  with  his 
finger.  'There  —  don't  you  recognize  it  now? 
It's  Injun  Billy's  track.  He's  got  the  child." 

"  God  be  praised  !  "   from  the  mother. 
'  Take  away  the  lantern.     I've  got  the  direction. 
Follow!  " 

He  started  on  a  run,  racing  in  and  out  among  the 
sage-bushes  a  matter  of  three  hundred  yards,  and 
disappeared  over  a  sand-wave ;  the  others  struggled 
after  him,  caught  him  up,  and  found  him  waiting. 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          487 

Ten  steps  away  was  a  little  wickieup,  a  dim  and 
formless  shelter  of  rags  and  old  horse-blankets,  a 
dull  light  showing  through  its  chinks. 

"You  lead,  Mrs.  Hogan,"  said  the  lad.  "It's 
your  privilege  to  be  first." 

All  followed  the  sprint  she  made  for  the  wickieup, 
and  saw,  with  her,  the  picture  its  interior  afforded. 
Injun  Billy  was  sitting  on  the  ground ;  the  child  was 
asleep  beside  him.  The  mother  hugged-  it  with  a 
wild  embrace,  which  included  Archy  Stillman,  the 
grateful  tears  running  down  her  face,  and  in  a 
choked  and  broken  voice  she  poured  out  a  golden 
stream  of  that  wealth  of  worshiping  endearments 
which  has  its  home  in  full  richness  nowhere  but  in 
the  Irish  heart. 

"  I  find  her  bymeby  it  is  ten  o'clock,"  Billy  ex 
plained.  "  She  'sleep  out  yonder,  ve'y  tired  —  face 
wet,  been  cryin',  'spose;  fetch  her  home,  feed  her, 
she  heap  much  hungry  —  go  'sleep  'gin." 

In  her  limitless  gratitude  the  happy  mother  waived 
rank  and  hugged  him  too,  calling  him  "  the  angel  of 
God  in  disguise."  And  he  probably  was  in  disguise 
if  he  was  that  kind  of  an  official.  He  was  dressed 
for  the  character. 

At  half-past  one  in  the  morning  the  procession 
burst  into  the  village  singing,  "  When  Johnny  Comes 
Marching  Home,"  waving  its  lanterns,  and  swal 
lowing  the  drinks  that  were  brought  out  all  along  its 
course.  It  concentrated  at  the  tavern,  and  made  a 
night  of  what  was  left  of  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  next  afternoon  the  village  was  electrified  with 
an  immense  sensation.     A  grave  and  dignified 
foreigner  of  distinguished  bearing  and  appearance  had 
arrived  at  the  tavern,   and  entered  this   formidable 
name  upon  the  register: 

SHERLOCK  HOLMES. 

The  news  buzzed  from  cabin  to  cabin,  from  claim 
to  claim;  tools  were  dropped,  and  the  town  swarmed 
toward  the  centre  of  interest.  A  man  passing  out 
at  the  northern  end  of  the  village  shouted  it  to  Pat 
Riley,  whose  claim  was  the  next  one  to  Flint  Buck- 
ner's.  At  that  time  Fetlock  Jones  seemed  to  turn 
sick.  He  muttered  to  himself: 

"  Uncle  Sherlock  !  The  mean  luck  of  it !  —  that 
he  should  come  just  when  .  .  .  ."  He  dropped 
into  a  reverie,  and  presently  said  to  himself:  4<  But 
what's  the  use  of  being  afraid  of  him  ?  Anybody 
that  knows  him  the  way  I  do  knows  he  can't 
detect  a  crime  except  where  he  plans  it  all  out 
beforehand  and  arranges  the  clews  and  hires 
some  fellow  to  commit  it  according  to  instructions. 
.  .  .  Now  there  ain't  going  to  be  any  clews  this 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective  Story          489 

time  —  so,  what  show  has  he  got?  None  at  all. 
No,  sir;  everything's  ready.  If  I  was  to  risk  put 
ting  it  off —  .  .  No,  I  won't  run  any  risk  like  that. 
Flint  Buckner  goes  out  of  this  world  to-night,  for 
sure."  Then  another  trouble  presented  itself. 
11  Uncle  Sherlock  '11  be  wanting  to  talk  home  matters 
with  me  this  evening,  and  how  am  I  going  to  get  rid 
of  him?  for  I 've got  to  be  at  my  cabin  a  minute  or 
two  about  eight  o'clock."  This  was  an  awkward 
matter,  and  cost  him  much  thought.  But  he  found 
a  way  to  beat  the  difficulty.  "  We'll  go  for  a  walk, 
and  I'll  leave  him  in  the  road  a  minute,  so  that  he 
won't  see  what  it  is  I  do :  the  best  way  to  throw  a 
detective  off  the  track,  anyway,  is  to  have  him  along 
when  you  are  preparing  the  thing.  Yes,  that's  the 
safest — I'll  take  him  with  me." 

Meantime  the  road  in  front  of  the  tavern  was 
blocked  with  villagers  waiting  and  hoping  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  great  man.  But  he  kept  his  room, 
and  did  not  appear.  None  but  Ferguson,  Jake 
Parker  the  blacksmith,  and  Ham  Sandwich  had  any 
luck.  These  enthusiastic  admirers  of  the  great 
scientific  detective  hired  the  tavern's  detained-bag- 
gage  lockup,  which  looked  into  the  detective's  room 
across  a  little  alleyway  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide,  am 
bushed  themselves  in  it,  and  cut  some  peep-holes  in 
the  window-blind.  Mr.  Holmes's  blinds  were  down; 
but  by  and  by  he  raised  them.  It  gave  the  spies  a 
hair-lifting  but  pleasurable  thrill  to  find  themselves 

face  to  face  with  the  Extraordinary  Man  who  had 
32 


490  The   $30,000   Bequest 

filled  the  world  with  the  fame  of  his  more  than 
human  ingenuities.  There  he  sat — not  a  myth,  not 
a  shadow,  but  real,  alive,  compact  of  substance,  and 
almost  within  touching  distance  with  the  hand. 

'*  Look  at  that  head !  "  said  Ferguson,  in  an  awed 
voice.  "  By  gracious  !  that' s  a  head  !  " 

44  You  bet!"  said  the  blacksmith,  with  deep 
reverence.  "Look  at  his  nose!  look  at  his  eyes! 
Intellect?  Just  a  battery  of  it ! ' ' 

11  And  that  paleness,"  said  Ham  Sandwich. 
"  Comes  from  thought  —  that's  what  it  comes  from. 
Hell !  duffers  like  us  don't  know  what  real  thought 
fc." 

"No  more  we  don't,"  said  Ferguson.  "What 
we  take  for  thinking  is  just  blubber-and-slush." 

"  Right  you  are,  Wells-Fargo.  And  look  at  that 
frown  —  that's  deep  thinking — away  down,  down, 
forty  fathom  into  the  bowels  of  things.  He's  on 
the  track  of  something." 

'*Well,  he  is,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  Say  — 
look  at  that  awful  gravity  —  look  at  that  pallid  sol- 
emnness  —  there  ain't  any  corpse  can  lay  over  it." 

"No,  sir,  not  for  dollars!  And  it's  his'n  by 
hereditary  rights,  too;  he's  been  dead  four  times 
a' ready,  and  there's  history  for  it.  Three  times 
natural,  once  by  accident.  I've  heard  say  he  smells 
damp  and  cold,  like  a  grave.  And  he —  " 

"'Sh!  Watch  him!  There  —  he's  got  his 
thumb  on  the  bump  on  the  near  corner  of  his  fore 
head,  and  his  forefinger  on  the  off  one.  His  think- 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          491 

works  is  just   ^.-grinding  now,  you  bet  your  other 
shirt." 

"That's  so.  And  now  he's  gazing  up  toward 
heaven  and  stroking  his  mustache  slow,  and — " 

44  Now  he  has  rose  up  standing,  and  is  putting  his 
clews  together  on  his  left  fingers  with  his  right 
finger.  See?  he  touches  the  forefinger— now  mid 
dle  finger — now  ring-finger —  " 

44  Stuck!" 

44  Look  at  him  scowl!  He  can't  seem  to  make 
out  that  clew.  So  he —  " 

44  See  him  smile  !  —  like  a  tiger  —  and  tally  off  the 
other  fingers  like  nothing!  He's  got  it,  boys;  he's 
got  it  sure  !  " 

44  Well,  I  should  say!  I'd  hate  to  be  in  that 
man's  place  that  he's  after." 

Mr.  Holmes  drew  a  table  to  the  window,  sat  down 
with  his  back  to  the  spies,  and  proceeded  to  write. 
The  spies  withdrew  their  eyes  from  the  peep-holes, 
lit  their  pipes,  and  settled  themselves  for  a  comfort 
able  smoke  and  talk.  Ferguson  said,  with  conviction : 

44  Boys,  it's  no  use  calking,  he's  a  wonder!  He's 
got  the  signs  of  it  all  over  him." 

14  You  hain't  ever  said  a  truer  word  than  that, 
Wells-Fargo,"  said  Jake  Parker.  44Say,  wouldn't 
it  'a'  been  nuts  if  he'd  a-been  here  last  night?  " 

.  44  Oh,  by  George,  but  wouldn't  it!  "  said  Fergu 
son.  . 44  Then  we'd  have  seen  scientific  work.  Intel 
lect —  just  pure  intellect  —  away  up  on  the  upper 
levels,  dontchuknow.  Archy  is  all  right,  and  it  don't 


492  The  $30,000   Bequest 

become  anybody  to  belittle  him,  I  can  tell  you. 
But  his  gift  is  only  just  eyesight,  sharp  as  an 
owl's,  as  near  as  I  can  make  it  out  just  a  grand 
natural  animal  talent,  no  more,  no  less,  and  prime 
as  far  as  it  goes,  but  no  intellect  in  it,  and  for  awful- 
ness  and  marvelousness  no  more  to  be  compared  to 
what  this  man  does  than  —  than —  Why,  let  me 
tell  you  what  he'd  have  done.  He'd  have  stepped 
over  to  Hogan's  and  glanced  —  just  glanced,  that's 
all  —  at  the  premises,  and  that's  enough.  See 
everything?  Yes,  sir,  to  the  last  little  dfctail;  and 
he'd  know  more  about  that  place  than  the  Hogans 
would  know  in  seven  years.  Next,  he  would  sit 
down  on  the  bunk,  just  as  ca'm,  and  say  to  Mrs. 
Hogan —  Say,  Ham,  consider  that  you  are  Mrs. 
Hogan.  I'll  ask  the  questions;  you  answer  them." 
"  All  right;  go  on." 

"  '  Madam,  if  you  please  —  attention  —  do  not  let 
your  mind  wander.    Now,  then  —  sex  of  the  child  ?  ' 
"  *  Female,  your  Honor/ 

'  Um  —  female.    Very  good,  very  good.    Age  ?  ' 

'  Turned  six,  your  Honor.' 

'  Um  —  young,  weak  —  two  miles.  Weariness 
will  overtake  it  then.  It  will  sink  down  and  sleep. 
We  shall  find  it  two  miles  away,  or  less.  Teeth?' 

'  Five,  your  Honor,  and  one  a-coming,' 

*  Very  good,  very  good,  very  good,  indeed. 
'  You  see,  boys,  he  knows  a  clew  when  he  sees  it, 
when  it  wouldn't  mean  a  dern  thing  to  anybody 
else.  *  Stockings,  madam?  Shoes?' 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          493 

"  '  Yes,  your  Honor  —  both.' 
"*  Yarn,  perhaps?     Morocco?' 

'  Yarn,  your  Honor.     And  kip.' 

'  Um  —  kip.  This  complicates  the  matter.  How 
ever,  let  it  go  —  we  shall  manage.  Religion?  ' 

'  Catholic,  your  Honor.' 

*  Very  good.  Snip  me  a  bit  from  the  bed 
blanket,  please.  Ah,  thanks.  Part  wool  —  foreign 
make.  Very  well.  A  snip  from  some  garment  of 
the  child's,  please.  Thanks.  Cotton.  Shows 
wear.  An  excellent  clew,  excellent.  Pass  me  a 
pellet  of  the  floor  dirt,  if  you'll  be  so  kind.  Thanks, 
many  thanks.  Ah,  admirable,  admirable!  Now 
we  know  where  we  are,  I  think.'  You  see,  boys, 
he's  got  all  the  clews  he  wants  now;  he  don't  need 
anything  more.  Now,  then,  what  does  this  Ex 
traordinary  Man  do?  He  lays  those  snips  and  that 
dirt  out  on  the  table  and  leans  over  them  on  his 
elbows,  and  puts  them  together  side  by  side  and 
studies  them  —  mumbles  to  himself,  *  Female  ' ; 
changes  them  around  —  mumbles,  *  Six  years  old  ' ; 
changes  them  this  way  and  that  —  again  mumbles : 
1  Five  teeth  —  one  a-coming  —  Catholic  —  yarn  — 
cotton  —  kip  —  damn  that  kip. '  Then  he  straightens 
up  and  gazes  toward  heaven,  and  plows  his  hands 
through  his  hair  —  plows  and  plows,  muttering, 
'  Damn  that  kip  !  '  Then  he  stands  up  and  frowns, 
and  begins  to  tally  off  his  clews  on  his  fingers  —  and 
gets  stuck  at  the  ring-finger.  But  only  just  a  min 
ute —  then  his  face  glares  all  up  in  a  smile  like  a 


494  The   $30,000   Bequest 

house  afire,  and  he  straightens  up  stately  and 
majestic,  and  says  to  the  crowd,  '  Take  a  lantern,  a 
couple  of  you,  and  go  down  to  Injun  Billy's  and 
fetch  the  child  —  the  rest  of  you  go  'long  home  to 
bed;  good-night,  madam;  good-night,  gents/  And 
he  bows  like  the  Matterhorn,  and  pulls  out  for  the 
tavern.  That's  his  style,  and  the  Only  —  scientific, 
intellectual — all  over  in  fifteen  minutes  —  no  pok 
ing  around  all  over  the  sage-brush  range  an  hour 
and  a  half  in  a  mass-meeting  crowd  for  him,  boys  — 
you  hear  me  !  ' ' 

"  By  Jackson,  it's  grand!  "  said  Ham  Sandwich. 
"  Wells-Fargo,  you've  got  him  down  to  a  dot. 
He  ain't  painted  up  any  exacter  to  the  life  in  the 
books.  By  George,  I  can  just  see  him  —  can't  you, 
boys?" 

44  You  bet  you!  It's  just  a  photograft,  that's 
what  it  is." 

Ferguson  was  profoundly  pleased  with  his  success, 
and  grateful.  He  sat  silently  enjoying  his  happiness 
a  little  while,  then  he  murmured,  with  a  deep  awe  in 
his  voice, 

"  I  wonder  if  God  made  him?  " 

There  was  no  response  for  a  moment;  then  Ham 
Sandwich  said,  reverently, 

"  Not  all  at  one  time,  I  reckon." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

7YT  eight  o'clock  that  evening  two  persons  were 
»•  groping  their  way  past  Flint  Buckner's  cabin 
in  the  frosty  gloom.  They  were  Sherlock  Holmes 
and  his  nephew. 

"  Stop  here  in  the  road  a  moment,  uncle,"  said 
Fetlock,  "  while  I  run  to  my  cabin;  I  won't  be  gone 
a  minute." 

He  asked  for  something — the  uncle  furnished  it 
—  then  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  but  soon  re 
turned,  and  the  talking-walk  was  resumed.  By  nine 
o'clock  they  had  wandered  back  to  the  tavern. 
They  worked  their  way  through  the  billiard-room, 
where  a  crowd  had  gathered  in  the  hope  of  getting 
a  glimpse  of  the  Extraordinary  Man.  A  royal  cheer 
was  raised.  Mr.  Holmes  acknowledged  the  compli 
ment  with  a  series  of  courtly  bows,  and  as  he  was 
passing  out  his  nephew  said  to  the  assemblage, 

"  Uncle  Sherlock's  got  some  work  to  do,  gentle 
men,  that  '11  keep  him  till  twelve  or  one;  but  he'll  be 
down  again  then,  or  earlier  if  he  can,  and  hopes 
some  of  you'll  be  left  to  take  a  drink  with  him." 

"By  George,  he's  just  a  duke,  boys!  Three 
cheers  for  Sherlock  Holmes,  the  greatest  man  that 


496  The   $30,000   Bequest 

ever    lived!"     shouted    Ferguson.       "Hip,    hip 
hip  —  " 

'  *  Hurrah !  hurrah !  hurrah !     Tiger ! ' ' 

The  uproar  shook  the  building,  so  hearty  was  the 
feeling  the  boys  put  into  their  welcome.  Upstairs 
the  uncle  reproached  the  nephew  gently,  saying, 

*'  What  did  you  get  me  into  that  engagement  for?  " 

*'  I  reckon  you  don't  want  to  be  unpopular,  do 
you,  uncle?  Well,  then,  don't  you  put  on  any  ex- 
clusiveness  in  a  mining-camp,  that's  all.  The  boys 
admire  you ;  but  if  you  was  to  leave  without  taking 
a  drink  with  them,  they'd  set  you  down  for  a  snob. 
And  besides,  you  said  you  had  home  talk  enough 
in  stock  to  keep  us  up  and  at  it  half  the  night." 

The  boy  was  right,  and  wise  —  the  uncle  acknowl 
edged  it.  The  boy  was  wise  in  another  detail  which 
he  did  not  mention, —  except  to  himself:  "  Uncle 
and  the  others  will  come  handy  —  in  the  way  of  nail 
ing  an  alibi  where  it  can't  be  budged." 

He  and  his  uncle  talked  diligently  about  three 
hours.  Then,  about  midnight,  Fetlock  stepped 
downstairs  and  took  a  position  in  the  dark  a  dozen 
steps  from  the  tavern,  and  waited.  Five  minutes 
later  Flint  Buckner  came  rocking  out  of  the  billiard- 
room  and  almost  brushed  him  as  he  passed. 

"I've  got  him!"  muttered  the  boy.  He  con 
tinued  to  himself,  looking  after  the  shadowy  form : 
"  Good-by  —  good-by  for  good,  Flint  Buckner;  you 
called  my  mother  a — -well,  never  mind  what:  it's  all 
right,  now;  you're  taking  your  last  walk,  friend." 


A   Double-Barreled  •*•  Dative   Story          497 

He  went  musing  back  :*nto-  the  tavern.  "  From 
now  till  one  is  an  hour$  We'll  spend  it  with  the 
boys:  it's  good  for  the <&*&*•' 

He  brought  Sherlock-  Holmes  to  the  billiard- 
room,  which  was  jammed  with  eager  and  admiring 
miners;  the  guest  calted'  tire  drinks,  and  the  fun  be 
gan.  Everybody  was'l l^ppy;  everybody  was  com 
plimentary;  the  ice^as  soon  broken,  songs,  anec 
dotes,  and  more  drifr*ks  Allowed,  and  the  pregnant 
minutes  flew.  At1  'feix  minutes  to  one,  when  the 
jollity  was  at  its  higl1^  — 

Boom  / 

There   was    silage'-6  '-'instantly.      The   deep    sound 

came    rolling  a*£r^mbling  from  Peak  to  Peak  UP 
the  gorge,  then  -died    d°wn,  and  ceased.     The  spell 

broke,  then,  and  th^  men  made  a  rush  for  the  door» 
saying, 

"  Something'  s- blown  up  !" 
Outside  -ji%o'iCe  m  the  darkness  said, 
«« It's  aviiay  ^own  the  gorge;   I  saw  the  flash." 
The  crc&rd    poured  down  the  canyon  —  Holmes, 
Fetlock,  VjArc;ky  Stillman,  everybody.     They  made 
the  mileife  a  Aew  minutes.     By  the  light  of  a  lantern 
they  fouiid  the  smooth  and  solid  dirt  floor  of  Flint 
Buckne**.s  •  ca°in ;  of  the  cabin  itself  not  a  vestige 
remained,  n°t  a  rag  nor  a  splinter.     Nor  any  sign  of 
Plinth'"'  Search    parties  sought  here  and  there  and 
yondr1*'  and  presently  a  cry  went  up. 
-Here  he  is!" 
-a  was  true.     Fifty  yards  down  the  gulch  they  had 


498  The  $30,000   Bequest 

found  him  — that  is,  they-  had  found  a  crushed  and 
lifeless  mass  which  represe  nted  him.  Fetlock  Jones 
hurried  thither  with  the- others  and  looked. 

The  inquest  was  a  fift,&h..minute  affair.  Ham 
Sandwich,  foreman  of  the, .  jury,  handed  up  the 
verdict,  which  was  phrased  x^  a  certain  unstudied 
literary  grace,  and  closed  w;[thv  this  finding,  to  wit: 
that  "  deceased  came  to  his  d^h  by. his  own  act  or 
some  other  person  or  persons  ^known  to  this  jury 
not  leaving  any  family  or  simiKWv(effects  behind  but 
his  cabin  which  was  blown  a\^  ancj  God  have 
mercy  on  his  soul  amen." 

Then  the  impatient  jury  rejoiXeiKthe  main  crowd, 
for  the  storm-centre  of  intcre?1^  ^j^  there Sher 
lock  Holmes.  The  miners  stoo,rj  sfl€I|t  and  reverent 
in  a  half-circle,  enclosing  a  large  VZ&H&  space  which 
included  the  front  exposure  of  th  e  sj^  of  the  jate 
premises.  In  this  considerable  sp^g^^e  Extraor 
dinary  Man  was  moving  about,  attended  by  his 
nephew  with  a  lantern.  With  a  tape  \,,  took  meas 
urements  of  the  cabin  site ;  of  the  distiirl^  from  the 
wall  of  chaparral  to  the  road;  of  the  'freight  of  the 
chaparral  bushes;  also  various  other  n^-astfrements. 
He  gathered  a  rag  here,  a  splinter  there,  -^|m  pinch 
of  earth  yonder,  inspected  them  profoi;^^  an(j 
preserved  them.  He  took  the  "lay"  of  ^J^:.piace 
with  a  pocket  compass,  allowing  two  secon^  for 
magnetic  variation.  He  took  the  time  (Pactfe^by 
his  watch,  correcting  it  for  local  time.  He  pacNic*-  ofj 
the  distance  from  the  cabin  site  to  the  corpse;, zLKj 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          499 

corrected  that  for  tidal  differentiation.  He  took  the 
altitude  with  a  pocket-aneroid-,  and  the  temperature 
with  a  pocket- thermometer.  Finally  he  said,  with  a 
stately  bow: 

"  It  is  finished.      Shall  we  return,  gentlemen?  " 

He  took  up  the  line  of  march  for  the  tavern,  and 
the  crowd  fell  into  his  wake,  earnestly  discussing  and 
admiring  the  Extraordinary  Man,  and  interlarding 
guesses  as  to  the  origin  of  the  tragedy  and  who  the 
author  of  it  might  be. 

11  My,  but  it's  grand  luck  having  him  here  —  hey, 
boys?"  said  Ferguson. 

'*  It's  the  biggest  thing  of  the  century/'  said  Ham 
Sandwich.  '*  It  '11  go  all  over  the  world;  you  mark 
my  words/' 

"  You  bet!"  said  Jake  Parker  the  blacksmith. 
"It'll  boom  this  camp.  Ain't  it  so,  Wells- 
Fargo?" 

"  Well,  as  you  want  my  opinion  —  if  it's  any  sign 
of  how  /  think  about  it,  I  can  tell  you  this :  yester 
day  I  was  holding  the  Straight  Flush  claim  at  two 
dollars  a  foot;  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  that  can  get 
it  at  sixteen  to-day." 

e<  Right  you  are,  Wells-Fargo  !  It's  the  grandest 
luck  a  new  camp  ever  struck.  Say,  did  you  see  him 
collar  them  little  rags  and  dirt  and  things?  What  an 
eye  !  He  just  can't  overlook  a  clew —  '  tain' t  /whim." 

"  That's  so.  And  they  wouldn't  mean  a  thing  to 
anybody  else ;  but  to  him,  why,  they're  just  a  book 
—  large  print  at  that." 


500  The   $30,000   Bequest 

"  Sure's  you're  born !  Them  odds  and  ends  have 
got  their  little  old  secret,  and  they  think  there  ain't 
anybody  can  pull  it;  but,  land!  when  he  sets  his 
grip  there  they've  got  to  squeal,  and  don't  you  for 
get  it.'1 

"  Boys,  I  ain't  sorry,  now,  that  he  wasn't  here  to 
roust  out  the  child ;  this  is  a  bigger  thing,  by  a  long 
sight.  Yes,  sir,  and  more  tangled  up  and  scientific 
and  intellectual." 

"  I  reckon  we're  all  of  us  glad  it's  turned  out  this 
way.  Glad?  'George!  it  ain't  any  name  for  it. 
Dontchuknow,  Archy  could  've  learnt  something  if 
he'd  had  the  nous  to  stand  by  and  take  notice  of 
how  that  man  works  the  system.  But  no;  he  went 
poking  up  into  the  chaparral  and  just  missed  the 
whole  thing." 

"It's  true  as  gospel;  I  seen  it  myself.  Well, 
Archy 's  young.  He'll  know  better  one  of  these 
days." 

"  Say,  boys,  who  do  you  reckon  done  it?  " 

That  was  a  difficult  question,  and  brought  out  a 
world  of  unsatisfying  conjecture.  Various  men  were 
mentioned  as  possibilities,  but  one  by  one  they  were 
discarded  as  not  being  eligible.  No  one  but  young 
Hillyer  had  been  intimate  with  Flint  Buckner;  no 
one  had  really  had  a  quarrel  with  him;  he  had 
affronted  every  man  who  had  tried  to  make  up  to 
him,  although  not  quite  offensively  enough  to  require 
bloodshed.  There  was  one  name  that  was  upon 
every  tongue  from  the  start,  but  it  was  the  last  to  get 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          501 

utterance  —  Fetlock  Jones's.  It  was  Pat  Riley  that 
mentioned  it. 

*'  Oh,  well,"  the  boys  said,  "  of  course  we've  all 
thought  of  him,  because  he  had  a  million  rights  to 
kill  Flint  Buckner,  and  it  was  just  his  plain  duty  to 
do  it.  But  all  the  same  there's  two  things  we  can't 
get  around:  for  one  thing,  he  hasn't  got  the  sand; 
and  for  another,  he  wasn't  anywhere  near  the  place 
when  it  happened." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Pat.  "He  was  there  in  the 
billiard-room  with  us  when  it  happened." 

"  Yes,  and  was  there  all  the  time  for  an  hour  before 
it  happened." 

"  It's  so.  And  lucky  for  him,  too.  He'd  have 
been  suspected  in  a  minute  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
that." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  tavern  dining-room  had  been  cleared  of  all  its 
furniture  save  one  six-foot  pine  table  and  a 
chair.  This  table  was  against  one  end  of  the  room ; 
the  chair  was  on  it;  Sherlock  Holmes,  stately,  im 
posing,  impressive,  sat  in  the  chair.  The  public 
stood.  The  room  was  full.  The  tobacco  smoke 
was  dense,  the  stillness  profound. 

The  Extraordinary  Man  raised  his  hand  to  com 
mand  additional  silence;  held  it  in  the  air  a  few 
moments;  then,  in  brief,  crisp  terms  he  put  forward 
question  after  question,  and  noted  the  answers  with 
i4  Um-ums,"  nods  of  the  head,  and  so  on.  By  this 
process  he  learned  all  about  Flint  Buckner,  his  char 
acter,  conduct,  and  habits,  that  the  people  were  able 
to  tell  him.  It  thus  transpired  that  the  Extraordi 
nary  Man's  nephew  was  the  only  person  in  the  camp 
who  had  a  killing-grudge  against  Flint  Buckner. 
Mr.  Holmes  smiled  compassionately  upon  the  wit 
ness,  and  asked,  languidly  — 

"  Do  any  of  you  gentlemen  chance  to  know  where 
the  lad  Fetlock  Jones  was  at  the  time  of  the  ex 
plosion?  " 

A  thunderous  response  followed  — 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          503 

"  In  the  billiard-room  of  this  house !  " 

"  Ah.     And  had  he  just  come  in?  " 

11  Been  there  all  of  an  hour !  " 

"  Ah.  It  is  about  —  about  —  well,  about  how  far 
might  it  be  to  the  scene  of  the  explosion  ?  '  * 

"All  of  a  mile!" 

"  Ah.     It  isn't  much  of  an  alibi,  'tis  true,  but —  " 

A  storm-burst  of  laughter,  mingled  with  shouts 
of  "By  jiminy,  but  he's  chain-lightning!"  and 
"  Ain't  you  sorry  you  spoke,  Sandy?  "  shut  off  the 
rest  of  the  sentence,  and  the  crushed  witness  drooped 
his  blushing  face  in  pathetic  shame.  The  inquisitor 
resumed : 

"The  lad  Jones's  somewhat  distant  connection 
with  the  case"  (laughter)  "having  been  disposed 
of,  let  us  now  call  the  ^-witnesses  of  the  tragedy, 
and  listen  to  what  they  have  to  say." 

He  got  out  his  fragmentary  clews  and  arranged 
them  on  a  sheet  of  cardboard  on  his  knee.  The 
house  held  its  breath  and  watched. 

"We  have  the  longitude  and  the  latitude,  cor 
rected  for  magnetic  variation,  and  this  gives  us  the 
exact  location  of  the  tragedy.  We  have  the  altitude, 
the  temperature,  and  the  degree  of  humidity  pre 
vailing —  inestimably  valuable,  since  they  enable  us 
to  estimate  with  precision  the  degree  of  influence 
which  they  would  exercise  upon  the  mood  and  dis 
position  of  the  assassin  at  that  time  of  the  night." 

(Buzz  of  admiration;  muttered  remark,  "By 
George,  but  he's  deep/")  He  fingered  his  clews. 


504  The  $30,000   Bequest 

1 '  And  now  let  us  ask  these  mute  witnesses  to  speak 
to  us. 

' '  Here  we  have  an  empty  linen  shotbag.  What  is 
its  message?  This:  that  robbery  was  the  motive, 
not  revenge.  What  is  its  further  message?  This: 
that  the  assassin  was  of  inferior  intelligence  —  shall 
we  say  light- witted,  or  perhaps  approaching  that? 
How  do  we  know  this?  Because  a  person  of  sound 
intelligence  would  not  have  proposed  to  rob  the  man 
Buckner,  who  never  had  much  money  with  him. 
But  the  assassin  might  have  been  a  stranger?  Let 
the  bag  speak  again.  I  take  from  it  this  article.  It 
is  a  bit  of  silver-bearing  quartz.  It  is  peculiar.  Ex 
amine  it,  please  —  you  —  and  you  —  and  you.  Now 
pass  it  back,  please.  There  is  but  one  lode  on  this 
coast  which  produces  just  that  character  and  color  of 
quartz ;  and  that  is  a  lode  which  crops  out  for  nearly 
two  miles  on  a  stretch,  and  in  my  opinion  is  des 
tined,  at  no  distant  day,  to  confer  upon  its  locality  a 
globe-girdling  celebrity,  and  upon  its  two  hundred 
owners  riches  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  Name 
that  lode,  please." 

"The  Consolidated  Christian  Science  and  Mary 
Ann  !  "  was  the  prompt  response. 

A  wild  crash  of  hurrahs  followed,  and  every  man 
reached  for  his  neighbor's  hand  and  wrung  it,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes;  and  Wells-Fargo  Ferguson 
shouted,  "  The  Straight  Flush  is  on  the  lode,  and  up 
she  goes  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  foot — you  hear 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective.  Story          505 

When  quiet  fell,  Mr.  Holmes  resumed: 

'  We  perceive,  then,  that  three  facts  are  estab 
lished,  to  wit:  the  assassin  was  approximately  light- 
witted ;  he  was  not  a  stranger ;  his  motive  was  rob 
bery,  not  revenge.  Let  us  proceed.  I  hold  in  my 
hand  a  small  fragment  of  fuse,  with  the  recent  smell 
of  fire  upon  it.  What  is  its  testimony?  Taken 
with  the  corroborative  evidence  of  the  quartz,  it  re 
veals  to  us  that  the  assassin  was  a  miner.  What 
does  it  tell  us  further?  This,  gentlemen:  that  the 
assassination  was  consummated  by  means  of  an  ex 
plosive.  What  else  does  it  say?  This :  that  the  ex 
plosive  was  located  against  the  side  of  the  cabin 
nearest  the  road  —  the  front  side  —  for  within  six 
feet  of  that  spot  I  found  it. 

11 1  hold  in  my  fingers  a  burnt  Swedish  match  — 
the  kind  one  rubs  on  a*  safety-box.  I  found  it  in  the 
road,  622  feet  from  the  abolished  cabin.  What  does 
it  say?  This:  that  the  train  was  fired  from  that 
point.  What  further  does  it  tell  us?  This  :  that  the 
assassin  was  left-handed.  How  do  I  know  this?  I 
should  not  be  able  to  explain  to  you,  gentlemen, 
how  I  know  it,  the  signs  being  so  subtle  that  only 
long  experience  and  deep  study  can  enable  one  to 
detect  them.  But  the  signs  are  here,  and  they  are 
reinforced  by  a  fact  which  you  must  have  often 
noticed  in  the  great  detective  narratives- — that  all 
assassins  are  left-handed." 

"By  Jackson,  that's  so!"  said  Ham  Sandwich, 
bringing  his  great  hand  down  with  a  resounding  slap 


506  The  $30,000   Bequest 

upon  his  thigh ;  ' '  blamed  if  I  ever  thought  of  it 
before." 

44  Nor  I!"  "Nor  I!"  cried  several.  "  Oh, 
there  can't  anything  escape  him — look  at  his  eye  !  " 

"  Gentlemen,  distant  as  the  murderer  was  from  his 
doomed  victim,  he  did  not  wholly  escape  injury. 
This  fragment  of  wood  which  I  now  exhibit  to  you 
struck  him.  It  drew  blood.  Wherever  he  is,  he 
bears  the  telltale  mark.  I  picked  it  up  where  he 
stood  when  he  fired  the  fatal  train."  He  looked 
out  over  the  house  from  his  high  perch,  and  his 
countenance  began  to  darken ;  he  slowly  raised  his 
hand,  and  pointed — - 

"  There  stands  the  assassin  !  " 

For  a  moment  the  house  was  paralyzed  with 
amazement;  then  twenty  voices  burst  out  with: 

11  Sammy  Hillyer?  Oh,  hell,  no!  Him?  It's 
pure  foolishness !  " 

"  Take  care,  gentlemen  —  be  not  hasty.  Observe 
—  he  has  the  blood-mark  on  his  brow." 

Hillyer  turned  white  with  fright.  He  was  near  to 
crying.  He  turned  this  way  and  that,  appealing  to 
every  face  for  help  and  sympathy ;  and  held  out  his 
supplicating  hands  toward  Holmes  and  began  to 
plead : 

"Don't,  oh,  don't!  I  never  did  it;  I  give  my 
word  I  never  did  it.  The  way  I  got  this  hurt  on 
my  forehead  was  —  ' ' 

"Arrest  him,  constable!"  cried  Holmes.  "I 
will  swear  out  the  warrant." 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          507 

The  constable  moved  reluctantly  forward  —  hesi 
tated  —  stopped. 

Hillyer  broke  out  with  another  appeal.  "Oh, 
Archy,  don't  let  them  do  it;  it  would  kill  mother! 
You  know  how  I  got  the  hurt.  Tell  them,  and 
save  me,  Archy;  save  me!  " 

Stillman  worked  his  way  to  the  front,  and  said : 

"Yes,  I'll  save  you.  Don't  be  afraid."  Then 
he  said  to  the  house,  "  Never  mind  how  he  got  the 
hurt;  it  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  this  case,  and 
isn't  of  any  consequence." 

"  God  bless  you,  Archy,  for  a  true  friend !  " 

"  Hurrah  for  Archy!  Go  in,  boy,  and  play  'em 
a  knock-down  flush  to  their  two  pair  'n'  a  jack!  " 
shouted  the  house,  pride  in  their  home  talent  and  a 
patriotic  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  it  rising  suddenly 
in  the  public  heart  and  changing  the  whole  attitude 
of  the  situation. 

Young  Stillman  waited  for  the  noise  to  cease; 
then  he  said, 

1 '  I  will  ask  Tom  Jeffries  to  stand  by  that  door 
yonder,  and  Constable  Harris  to  stand  by  the  other- 
one  here,  and  not  let  anybody  leave  the  room." 

"  Said  and  done.      Go  on,  old  man  !  " 

"The  criminal  is  present,  I  believe.  I  will  show 
liim  to  you  before  long,  in  case  I  am  right  in  my 
guess.  Now  I  will  tell  you  all  about  the  tragedy, 
from  start  to  finish.  The  motive  wasn't  robbery; 
it  was  revenge.  The  murderer  wasn't  light-witted. 
He  didn't  stand  622  feet  away.  He  didn't  get  hit 


508  The  $30,000   Bequest 

with  a  piece  of  wood.  He  didn't  place  the  explo* 
sive  against  the  cabin.  He  didn't  bring  a  shot-bag 
with  him,  and  he  wasn't  left-handed.  With  the  ex 
ception  of  these  errors,  the  distinguished  guest's 
statement  of  the  case  is  substantially  correct." 

A  comfortable  laugh  rippled  over  the  house; 
friend  nodded  to  friend,  as  much  as  to  say,  '*  That's 
the  word,  with  the  bark  on  it.  Good  lad,  good  boy. 
He  ain't  lowering  his  flag  any!  " 

The  guest's  serenity  was  not  disturbed.  Stillman 
resumed : 

"  I  also  have  some  witnesses;  and  I  will  presently 
tell  you  where  you  can  find  some  more."  He  held 
up  a  piece  of  coarse  wire;  the  crowd  craned  theif 
necks  to  see.  "  It  has  a  smooth  coating  of  melted 
tallow  on  it.  And  here  is  a  candle  which  is  burned 
half-way  down.  The  remaining  half  of  it  has  marks 
cut  upon  it  an  inch  apart.  Soon  I  will  tell  you  where 
I  found  these  things.  I  will  now  put  aside  reasonings, 
guesses,  the  impressive  hitchings  of  odds  and  ends 
of  clews,  together,  and  the  other  showy  theatricals  of 
the  deteetive  trade,  and  tell  you  in  a  plain,  straight 
forward  way  just  how  this  dismal  thing  happened." 

He  paused  a  moment,  for  effect  —  to  allow  silence 
and  suspense  to  intensify  and  concentrate  the  house's 
interest;  then  he  went  on: 

"  The  assassin  studied  out  his  plan  with  a  good 
deal  of  pains.  It  was  a  good  plan,  very  ingenious, 
and  showed  an  intelligent  mind,  not  a  feeble  one. 
It  was  a  plan  which  was  well  calculated  to  ward  off 


A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story          509 

all  suspicion  from  its  inventor.  In  the  first  place, 
he  marked  a  candle  into  spaces  an  inch  apart,  and  lit 
it  and  timed  it.  He  found  it  took  three  hours  to 
burn  four  inches  of  it.  I  tried  it  myself  for  half  an 
hour,  awhile  ago,  upstairs  here,  while  the  inquiry 
into  Flint  Buckner's  character  and  ways  was  being 
conducted  in  this  room,  and  I  arrived  in  that  way  at 
the  rate  of  a  candle's  consumption  when  sheltered 
from  the  wind.  Having  proved  his  trial-candle's 
i-ate,  he  blew  it  out —  I  have  already  shown  it  to  you 
—  and  put  his  inch-marks  on  a  fresh  one. 

"  He  put  the  fresh  one  into  a  tin  candlestick. 
Then  at  the  five-hour  mark  he  bored  a  hole  through 
the  candle  with  a  red-hot  wire.  I  have  already 
shown  you  the  wire,  with  a  smooth  coat  of  tallow  on 
it — tallow  that  had  been  melted  and  had  cooled. 

"With  labor — very  hard  labor,  I  should  say  — 
he  struggled  up  through  the  stiff  chaparral  that 
clothes  the  steep  hillside  back  of  Flint  Buckner's 
place,  tugging  an  empty  flour-barrel  with  him.  He 
placed  it  in  that  absolutely  secure  hiding-place,  and 
in  the  bottom  of  it  he  set  the  candlestick.  Then  he 
measured  off  about  thirty-five  feet  of  fuse  —  the 
barrel's  distance  from  the  back  of  the  cabin.  He 
bored  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  barrel  —  here  is  the 
large  gimlet  he  did  it  with.  He  went  on  and 
finished  his  work;  and  when  it  was  done,  one  end  of 
the  fuse  was  in  Buckner's  cabin,  and  the  other  end, 
with  a  notch  chipped  in  it  to  expose  the  powder,  was 
in  the  hole  in  the  candle  —  timed  to  blow  the  place 


5io  The   $30,000   Bequest 

up  at  one  o'clock  this  morning,  provided  the  candle 
was  lit  about  eight  o'clock  yesterday  evening  — 
which  I  am  betting  it  was  —  and  provided  there  was 
an  explosive  in  the  cabin  and  connected  with  that 
end  of  the  fuse  —  which  I  am  also  betting  there  was, 
though  I  can't  prove  it.  Boys,  the  barrel  is  there  in 
the  chaparral,  the  candle's  remains  are  in  it  in  the  tin 
stick;  the  burnt-out  fuse  is  in  the  gimlet-hole,  the 
other  end  is  down  the  hill  where  the  late  cabin 
stood.  I  saw  them  all  an  hour  or  two  ago,  when 
the  Professor  here  was  measuring  off  unimplicated 
vacancies  and  collecting  relics  that  hadn't  anything 
to  do  with  the  case." 

He  paused.  The  house  drew  a  long,  deep  breath, 
shook  its  strained  cords  and  muscles  free  and  burst 
into  cheers.  "Dang  him!"  said  Ham  Sandwich, 
"  that's  why  he  was  snooping  around  in  the  chaparral, 
instead  of  picking  up  points  out  of  the  P'fessor's 
game.  Looky  here  —  he  ain't  no  fool,  boys." 

"  No,  sir !     Why,  great  Scott—  " 

But  Stillman  was  resuming : 

;<  While  we  were  out  yonder  an  hour  or  two  ago, 
the  owner  of  the  gimlet  and  the  trial-candle  took 
them  from  a  place  where  he  had  concealed  them  — 
it  was  not  a  good  place  —  and  carried  them  to  what 
he  probably  thought  was  a  better  one,  two  hundred 
yards  up  in  the  pine  woods,  and  hid  them  there, 
covering  them  over  with  pine  needles.  It  was  there 
that  I  found  them.  The  gimlet  exactly  fits  the  hole 
in  the  barrel.  And  now —  " 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          5 1 1 

The  Extraordinary  Man  interrupted  him.  He 
said,  sarcastically: 

"  We  have  had  a  very  pretty  fairy-tale,  gentlemen 
—  very  pretty  indeed.  Now  I  would  like  to  ask  this 
young  man  a  question  or  two." 

Some  of  the  boys  winced,  and  Ferguson  said, 

"  I'm  afraid  Archy's  going  to  catch  it  now." 

The  others  lost  their  smiles  and  sobered  down. 
Mr.  Holmes  said : 

'*  Let  us  proceed  to  examine  into  this  fairy-tale  in 
a  consecutive  and  orderly  way  —  by  geometrical 
progression,  so  to  speak  —  linking  detail  to  detail  in 
a  steadily  advancing  and  remorselessly  consistent 
and  unassailable  march  upon  this  tinsel  toy-fortress 
of  error,  the  dream-fabric  of  a  callow  imagination. 
To  begin  with,  young  sir,  I  desire  to  ask  you  but 
three  questions  at  present  —  at  present.  Did  I 
understand  you  to  say  it  was  your  opinion  that  the 
supposititious  candle  was  lighted  at  about  eight 
o'clock  yesterday  evening?  " 

"Yes,  sir  — about  eight." 

c<  Could  you  say  exactly  eight?  " 

44  Well,  no,  I  couldn't  be  that  exact." 

'*  Um.  If  a  person  had  been  passing  along  there 
just  about  that  time,  he  would  have  been  almost  sure 
to  encounter  that  assassin,  do  you  think?  " 

"Yes,  I  should  think  so." 

"  Thank  you,  that  is  all.  For  the  present.  I  say, 
all  for  the  present. " 

"Dernhim!  he' s  laying  f  or  Archy,"  said  Ferguson. 


512  The  $30,000   Bequest 

81  It's  so,"  said  Ham  Sandwich.  "I  don't  like 
the  look  of  it." 

Stillman  said,  glancing  at  the  guest, 

41 1  was  along  there  myself  at  half  past  eight — • 
no,  about  nine." 

"In-deed?  This  is  interesting  —  this  is  very  in 
teresting.  Perhaps  you  encountered  the  assassin  ?" 

"  No,  I  encountered  no  one." 

"  Ah.  Then  —  if  you  will  excuse  the  remark —  I 
do  not  quite  see  the  relevancy  of  the  information." 

"It  has  none.  At  present.  I 'say  it  has  none- — 
at  present." 

He  paused.  Presently  he  resumed :  "  I  did  not 
encounter  the  assassin,  but  I  am  on  his  track,  I  am 
sure,  for  I  believe  he  is  in  this  room.  I  will  ask  you 
all  to  pass  one  by  one  in  front  of  me  —  here,  where 
there  is  a  good  light  — so  that  I  can  see  your  feet." 

A  buzz  of  excitement  swept  the  place,  and  the 
march  began,  the  guest  looking  on  with  an  iron 
attempt  at  gravity  which  was  not  an  unqualified  suc 
cess.  Stillman  stooped,  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  and  gazed  do.wn  intently  at  each  pair  of  feet 
as  it  passed.  Fifty  men  tramped  monotonously  by 
—  with  no  result.  Sixty.  Seventy.  The  thing  was 
beginning  to  look  absurd.  The  guest  remarked, 
with  suave  irony, 

"  Assassins  appear  to  be  scarce  this  evening." 

The  house  saw  the  humor  of  it,  and  refreshed  it 
self  with  a  cordial  laugh.  Ten  or  twelve  more  can 
didates  tramped  by  —  no,  danced  by,  with  airy  and 


"  STILLMAN    ACCUSES    SHERLOCK    HOLMES 


A   Double-Barreled  Detective  Story 

ridiculous  capers  which  convulsed  the  spectators  — 
then  suddenly  Stillman  put  out  his  hand  and  said, 

"This  is  the  assassin !  " 

"  Fetlock  Jones,  by  the  great  Sanhedrim !  "  roared 
the  crowd ;  and  at  once  let  fly  a  pyrotechnic  explo 
sion  and  dazzle  and  confusion  of  stirring  remarks  in 
spired  by  the  situation. 

At  the  height  of  the  turmoil  the  guest  stretched 
out  his  hand,  commanding  peace.  The  authority  of 
a  great  name  and  a  great  personality  laid  its  mysteri 
ous  compulsion  upon  the  house,  and  it  obeyed. 
Out  of  the  panting  calm  which  succeeded,  the  guest 
spoke,  saying,  with  dignity  and  feeling: 

"  This  is  serious.  It  strikes  at  an  innocent  life. 
Innocent  beyond  suspicion  !  Innocent  beyond  per- 
adventure  !  Hear  me  prove  it ;  observe  how  simple 
a  fact  can  brush  out  of  existence  this  witless  lie. 
Listen.  My  friends,  that  lad  was  never  out  of  my 
sight  yesterday  evening  at  any  time !  " 

It  made  a  deep  impression.  Men  turned  their 
eyes  upon  Stillman  with  grave  inquiry  in  them. 
His  face  brightened,  and  he  said, 

"  I  knew  there  was  another  one!  "  He  stepped 
briskly  to  the  table  and  glanced  at  the  guest's  feet, 
then  up  at  his  face,  and  said :  "  You  were  with  him ! 
You  were  not  fifty  steps  from  him  when  he  lit  the 
candle  that  by  and  by  fired  the  powder!  "  (Sensa 
tion.}  "And  what  is  more,  you  furnished  the 
matches  yourself !  ' ' 

Plainly  the  guest  seemed  hit ;  it  looked  so  to  the 


514  The   $30,000   Bequest 

public.  He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak;  the  words 
did  not  come  freely. 

1  *  This  —  er  —  this  is  insanity  —  this  — ' ' 

Stillman  pressed  his  evident  advantage  home.  He 
held  up  a  charred  match. 

"  Here  is  one  of  them.  I  found  it  in  the  barrel 
—  and  there's  another  one  there/' 

The  guest  found  his  voice  at  once. 

"  Yes  —  and  put  them  there  yourself!  " 

It  was  recognized  a  good  shot.     Stillman  retorted. 

"  It  is  wax  —  a  breed  unknown  to  this  camp.  I 
am  ready  to  be  searched  for  the  box.  Are  you?  " 

The  guest  was  staggered  this  time  —  the  dullest 
eye  could  see  it.  He  fumbled  with  his  hands ;  once 
or  twice  his  lips  moved,  but  the  words  did  not  come. 
The  house  waited  and  watched,  in  tense  suspense, 
the  stillness  adding  effect  to  the  situation.  Presently 
Stillman  said,  gently, 

"  We  are  waiting  for  your  decision." 

There  was  silence  again  during  several  moments ; 
then  the  guest  answered,  in  a  low  voice, 

44  I  refuse  to  be  searched." 

There  was  no  noisy  demonstration,  but  all  about 
the  house  one  voice  after  another  muttered : 

44  That  settles  it!     He's  Archy's  meat." 

What  to  do  now?  Nobody  seemed  to  know.  It 
was  an  embarrassing  situation  for  the  moment  — 
merely,  of  course,  because  matters  had  taken  such  a 
sudden  and  unexpected  turn  that  these  unpracticed 
minds  were  not  prepared  for  it,  and  had  come  to  a 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          515 

standstill,  like  a  stopped  clock,  under  the  shock. 
But  after  a  little  the  machinery  began  to  work  again, 
tentatively,  and  by  twos  and  threes  the  men  put  their 
heads  together  and  privately  buzzed  over  this  and 
that  and  the  other  proposition.  One  of  these 
propositions  met  with  much  favor ;  it  was,  to  confer 
upon  the  assassin  a  vote  of  thanks  for  removing  Flint 
Buckner,  and  let  him  go.  But  the  cooler  heads  op 
posed  it,  pointing  out  that  addled  brains  in  the  East 
ern  States  would  pronounce  it  a  scandal,  and  make 
no  end  of  foolish  noise  about  it.  Finally  the  cool 
heads  got  the  upper  hand,  and  obtained  general  con 
sent  to  a  proposition  of  their  own ;  their  leader  then 
called  the  house  to  order  and  stated  it  —  to  this  effect: 
that  Fetlock  Jones  be  jailed  and  put  upon  trial. 

The  motion  was  carried.  Apparently  there  was 
nothing  further  to  do  now,  and  the  people  were  glad, 
for,  privately,  they  were  impatient  to  get  out  and 
rush  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  see  whether  that 
barrel  and  the  other  things  were  really  there  or  not. 

But  no  —  the  break-up  got  a  check.  The  sur 
prises  were  not  over  yet.  For  a  while  Fetlock  Jones 
had  been  silently  sobbing,  unnoticed  in  the  absorb 
ing  excitements  which  had  been  following  one  an 
other  so  persistently  for  some  time;  but  when  his 
arrest  and  trial  were  decreed,  he  broke  out  despair 
ingly,  and  said : 

"  No  !  it's  no  use.  I  don't  want  any  jail,  I  don't 
want  any  trial;  I've  had  all  the  hard  luck  I  want, 
and  all  the  miseries.  Hang  me  now,  and  let  me 


516  The  $30,000   Bequest 

out!  It  would  all  come  out,  anyway  — there 
couldn't  anything  save  me.  He  has  told  it  all,  just 
as  if  he'd  been  with  me  and  seen  it  —  /don't  know 
how  he  found  out;  and  you'll  find  the  barrel  and 
things,  and  then  I  wouldn't  have  any  chance  any 
more.  I  killed  him;  and  you'd  have  done  it  too,  if 
he'd  treated  you  like  a  dog,  and  you  only  a  boy, 
and  weak  and  poor,  and  not  a  friend  to  help  you." 

II  And  served  him  damned  well  right!  "  broke  in 
Ham  Sandwich.      "  Looky  here,  boys —  ' 

From  the  constable :  ' '  Order !  Order,  gentle 
men!11 

A  voice :  ' '  Did  your  uncle  know  what  you  was 
up  to?" 

"  No,  he  didn't." 

44  Did  he  give  you  the  matches,  sure  enough?  " 

44  Yes,  he  did;  but  he  didn't  know  what  I  wanted 
them  for." 

"  When  you  was  out  on  such  a  business  as  that, 
how  did  you  venture  to  risk  having  him  along  —  and 
him  a  detective  ?  How's  that?  " 

The  boy  hesitated,  fumbled  with  his  buttons  in  an 
embarrassed  way,  then  said,  shyly, 

II 1  know  about  detectives,  on  account  of  having 
them  in  the  family;  and  if  you  don't  want  them  to 
find  out  about  a  thing,  it's  best  to  have  them  around 
when  you  do  it." 

The  cyclone  of  laughter  which  greeted  this  naYve 
discharge  of  wisdom  did  not  modify  the  poor  little 
waif's  embarrassment  in  any  large  degree. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

rROM  a  letter  to    Mrs.    Stillrnan,   dated   merely 
"  Tuesday. " 

Fetlock  Jones  was  put  under  lock  and  key  in  an  unoccupied  log 
cabin,  and  left  there  to  await  his  trial.  Constable  Harris  provided  him 
with  a  couple  of  days'  rations,  instructed  him  to  keep  a  good  guard 
over  himself,  and  promised  to  look  in  on  him  as  soon  as  further  supplies 
should  be  due. 

Next  morning  a  score  of  us  went  with  Hillyer,  out  of  friendship, 
and  helped  him  bury  his  late  relative,  the  unlamented  Buckner,  and  I 
acted  as  first  assistant  pall-bearer,  Hillyer  acting  as  chief.  Just  as  we 
had  finished  our  labors  a  ragged  and  melancholy  stranger,  carrying  an 
old  hand-bag,  limped  by  with  his  head  down,  and  I  caught  the  scent  I 
had  chased  around  the  globe !  It  was  the  odor  of  Paradise  to  my  per 
ishing  hope ! 

In  a  moment  I  was  at  his  side  and  had  laid  a  gentle  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  He  slumped  to  the  ground  as  if  a  stroke  of  lightning  had 
withered  him  in  his  tracks;  and  as  the  boys  came  running  he  struggled 
to  his  knees  and  put  up  his  pleading  hands  to  rne,  and  out  of  his  chat 
tering  jaws  he  begged  me  to  persecute  him  no  more,  and  said, 

"  You  have  hunted  me  around  the  world,  Sherlock  Holmes,  yet  God 
is  my  witness  I  have  never  done  any  man  harm !  " 

A  glance  at  his  wild  eyes  showed  us  that  he  was  insane.  That  was 
my  work,  mother !  The  tidings  of  your  death  can  some  day  repeat  the* 
misery  I  felt  in  that  moment,  but  nothing  else  can  ever  do  it.  The  boys 
lifted  him  up,  and  gathered  about  him,  and  were  full  of  pity  of  him, 
and  said  the  gentlest  and  touchingest  things  to  him,  and  said  cheer  up 
and  don't  be  troubled,  he  was  among  friends  now,  and  they  would  take 
care  of  him,  and  protect  him,  and  hang  any  man  that  laid  a  hand  on 
him.  They  are  just  like  so  many  mothers,  the  rough  mining-camp  boys 


5i8  The  $30,000   Bequest 

are,  when  you  'wake  up  the  south  side  of  their  hearts;  yes,  and  just 
like  so  many  reckless  and  unreasoning  children  when  you  wake  up  the 
opposite  side  of  that  muscle.  They  did  everything  they  could  think  of 
to  comfort  him,  but  nothing  succeeded  until  Wells-Fargo  Ferguson,  who 
is  a  clever  strategist,  said, 

"  If  it's  only  Sherlock  Holmes  that's  troubling  'you,  you  needn't 
worry  any  more." 

"Why?"  asked  the  forlorn  lunatic,  eagerly. 

"Because  he's  dead  again." 

"Dead!  Dead!  Oh,  don't  trifle  with  a  poor  wreck  like  me.  Is 
be  dead?  On  honor,  now —  is  he  telling  me  true,  boys?  " 

"True  as  you're  standing  there!"  said  Ham  Sandwich,  and  they  all 
backed  up  the  statement  in  a  body. 

"They  hung  him  in  San  Bernardino  last  week,"  added  Ferguson, 
clinching  the  matter,  "  whilst  he  was  searching  around  after  you.  Mis 
took  him  for  another  man.  They're  sorry,  but  they  can't  help  it  now.'* 

"  They're  a-building  him  a  monument,"  said  Ham  Sandwich,  with 
the  air  of  a  person  who  had  contributed  to  it,  and  knew. 

"James  Walker"  drew  a  deep  sigh  —  evidently  a  sigh  of  relief — 
and  said  nothing;  but  his  eyes  lost  something  of  their  wildness,  his 
countenance  cleared  visibly,  and  its  drawn  look  relaxed  a  little.  We  all 
went  to  our  cabin,  and  the  boys  cooked  him  the  best  dinner  the  camp 
could  furnish  the  materials  for,  and  while  they  were  about  it  Hillyer  and 
I  outfitted  him  from  hat  to  shoe-leather  with  new  clothes  of  ours,  and 
made  a  comely  and  presentable  old  gentleman  of  him.  "Old"  is  the 
right  word,  and  a  pity,  too :  old  by  the  droop  of  him,  and  the  frost  upon 
his  hair,  and  the  marks  which  sorrow  and  distress  have  left  upon  his  face; 
though  he  is  only  in  his  prime  in  the  matter  of  years.  While  he  ate, 
we  smoked  and  chatted;  and  when  he  was  finishing  he  found  his  voice 
at  last,  and  of  his  own  accord  broke  out  with  his  personal  history.  I 
cannot  furnish  his  exact  words,  but  I  will  come  as  near  it  as  I  can. 
THE  "WRONG  MAN'S "  STORY. 

It  happened  like  this :  I  was  in  Denver.  I  had  been  there  many 
years;  sometimes  I  remember  how  many,  sometimes  I  don't  —  but  it 
isn't  any  matter.  All  of  a  sudden  I  got  a  notice  to  leave,  or  I  would 
be  exposed  for  a  horrible  crime  committed  long  before  —  years  and  years 
before  —  in  the  East. 

I  knew  about  that  crime,  but  I  was  not  the  criminal;  it  was  a  cousin 
of  mine  of  the  same  name.  What  should  I  better  do?  My  head  was 


A  Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          519 

all  disordered  by  fear,  and  I  didn't  know.  I  was  allowed  very  little 
time — only  one  day,  I  think  it  was.  I  would  be  ruined  if  I  was  pub 
lished,  and  the  people  would  lynch  me,  and  not  believe  what  I  said. 
It  is  always  the  way  with  lynchings :  when  they  find  out  it  is  a  mistake 
they  are  sorry,  but  it  is  too  late, —  the  same  as  it  was  with  Mr.  Holmes, 
you  see.  So  I  said  I  would  sell  out  and  get  money  to  live  on,  and  run 
away  until  it  blew  over  and  I  could  come  back  with  my  proofs.  Then 
I  escaped  in  the  night  and  went  a  long  way  off  in  the  mountains  some 
where,  and  lived  disguised  and  had  a  false  name. 

I  got  more  and  more  troubled  and  worried,  and  my  troubles  made 
me  see  spirits  and  hear  voices,  and  I  could  not  think  straight  and  clear 
on  any  subject,  but  got  confused  and  involved  and  had  to  give  it  up, 
because  my  head  hurt  so.  It  got  to  be  worse  and  worse;  more  spirits 
and  more  voices.  They  were  about  me  all  the  time;  at  first  only  in  the 
night,  then  in  the  day  too.  They  were  always  whispering  around  my 
bed  and  plotting  against  me,  and  it  broke  my  sleep  and  kept  me  fagged 
out,  because  I  got  no  good  rest. 

And  then  came  the  worst.  One  night  the  whispers  said,  "We'll 
never  manage,  because  we  can't  ses  him,  and  so  can't  point  him  out  to 
the  people." 

They  sighed;  then  one  said:  "We  must  bring  Sherlock  Holmes. 
He  can  be  here  in  twelve  days." 

They  all  agreed,  and  whispered  and  jibbered  with  joy.  But  my 
heart  broke;  for  I  had  read  about  that  man,  and  knew  what  it  would 
be  to  have  him  upon  my  track,  with  his  superhuman  penetration  and 
tireless  energies. 

The  spirits  went  away  to  fetch  him,  and  I  got  up  at  once  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  fled  away,  carrying  nothing  but  the  hand-bag 
that  had  my  money  in  it- — thirty  thousand  dollars;  two-thirds  of  it  are 
in  the  bag  there  yet.  It  was  forty  days  before  that  man  caught  up  on 
my  track.  I  just  escaped.  From  habit  he  had  written  his  real  name 
on  a  tavern  register,  but  had  scratched  it  out  and  written  "  Dagget 
Barclay "  in  the  place  of  it.  But  fear  gives  you  a  watchful  eye  and 
keen,  and  I  read  the  true  name  through  the  scratches,  and  fled  like  a 
deer. 

He  has  hunted  me  all  over  this  world  for  three  years  and  a  half — 
the  Pacific  States,  Australasia,  India  —  everywhere  you  can  think  of ; 
then  back  to  Mexico  and  up  to  California  again,  giving  me  hardly  any 
rest;  but  that  name  on  the  registers  always  saved  me,  and  what  is  left 


520  The   $30,000   Bequest 

of  me  is  alive  yet.  And  I  am  so  tired !  A  cruel  time  he  has  given  me, 
yet  I  give  you  my  honor  I  have  never  harmed  him  nor  any  man. 

That  was  the  end  of  the  story,  and  it  stirred  those  boys  to  blood- 
heat,  be  sure  of  it.  As  for  me — each  word  burnt  a  hole  in  me  where 
it  struck. 

We  voted  that  the  old  man  should  bunk  with  us,  and  be  my  guest 
and  Hillyer's.  I  shall  keep  my  own  counsel,  naturally;  but  as  soon  as 
he  is  well  rested  and  nourished,  I  shall  take  him  to  Denver  and  rehabili 
tate  his  fortunes. 

The  boys  gave  the  old  fellow  the  bone-mashing  good-fellowship 
handshake  of  the  mines,  and  then  scattered  away  to  spread  the  news. 

At  dawn  next  morning  Wells-Fargo  Ferguson  and  Ham  Sandwich 
called  us  softly  out,  and  said,  privately: 

"  That  news  about  the  way  that  old  stranger  has  been  treated  has 
spread  all  around,  and  the  camps  are  up.  They  are  piling  in  from 
everywhere,  and  are  going  to  lynch  the  P'fessor.  Constable  Harris  is 
in  a  dead  funk,  and  has  telephoned  the  sheriff.  Come  along !  " 

We  started  on  a  run.  The  others  were  privileged  to  feel  as  they 
chose,  but  in  my  heart's  privacy  I  hoped  the  sheriff  would  arrive  in 
time;  for  I  had  small  desire  that  Sherlock  Holmes  should  hang  for  my 
deeds,  as  you  can  easily  believe.  I  had  heard  a  good  deal  about  the 
sheriff,  but  for  reassurance's  sake  I  asked, 

"  Can  he  stop  a  mob?  " 

"Can  he  stop  a  mob!  Can  Jack  Fairfax  stop  a  mob!  Well,  I 
should  smile !  Ex-desperado  —  nineteen  scalps  on  his  string.  Can  kei 
Oh,  I  say!" 

As  we  tore  up  the  gulch,  distant  cries  and  shouts  and  yells  rose 
taintly  on  the  still  air,  and  grew  steadily  in  strength  as  we  raced  along. 
Roar  after  roar  burst  out,  stronger  and  stronger,  nearer  and  nearer;  and 
at  last,  when  we  closed  up  upon  the  multitude  massed  in  the  open  area 
in  front  of  the  tavern,  the  crash  of  sound  was  deafening.  Some  brutal 
roughs  from  Daly's  gorge  had  Holmes  in  their  grip,  and  he  was  the 
calmest  man  there;  a  contemptuous  smile  played  about  his  lips,  and  if 
any  fear  of  death  was  in  his  British  heart,  his  iron  personality  was 
master  of  it  and  no  sign  of  it  was  allowed  to  appear. 

"  Come  to  a  vote,  men  !  "  This  from  one  of  the  Daly  gang,  Shad- 
belly  Higgins.  "Quick  !  is  it  hang,  or  shoot?  " 

"  Neither !  "  shouted  one  of  his  comrades.  "  He'd  be  alive  again 
in  a  week;  burning's  the  only  permanency  for  him." 


A   Double-Barreled   Detective   Story          521 

The  gangs  from  all  the  outlying  camps  burst  out  in  "a  thunder-crash 
of  approval,  and  went  struggling  and  surging  toward  the  prisoner,  and 
closed  around  him,  shouting,  ' «  Fire  !  fire's  the  ticket ! ' '  They  dragged 
him  to  the  horse-post,  backed  him  against  it,  chained  him  to  it,  and 
piled  wood  and  pine  cones  around  him  waist-deep.  Still  the  strong  face 
did  not  blench,  and  still  the  scornful  smile  played  about  the  thin  lips. 

"  A  match !    fetch  a  match  !  " 

Shadbelly  struck  it,  shaded  it  with  his  hand,  stooped,  and  held  it 
under  a  pine  cone.  A  deep  silence  fell  upon  the  mob.  The  cone 
caught,  a  tiny  flame  flickered  about  it  a  moment  or  two.  I  seemed  to 
catch  the  sound  of  distant  hoofs  — it  grew  more  distinct  —  still  more 
and  more  distinct,  more  and  more  definite,  but  the  absorbed  crowd  did 
not  appear  to  notice  it.  The  match  went  out.  The  man  struck  another, 
stooped,  and  again  the  flame  rose;  this  time  it  took  hold  and  began  to 
spread  —  here  and  there  men  turned  away  their  faces.  The  executioner 
stood  with  ths  charred  match  in  his  fingers,  watching  his  work.  The 
hoof -beats  turned  a  projecting  crag,  and  now  they  came  thundering  down 
upon  us.  Almost  the  next  moment  there  was  a  shout  — 
"The  sheriff!" 

And  straightway  he  came  tearing  into  the  midst,  stood  his  horse 
almost  on  his  hind  feet,  and  said, 
"  Fall  back,  you  gutter-snipes !  " 

He  was  obeyed.  By  all  but  their  leader.  He  stood  his  ground, 
and  his  hand  went  to  his  revolver.  The  sheriff  covered  him  promptly, 
and  said : 

"  Drop  your  hand,  you  parlor-desperado.  Kick  the  fire  away. 
Now  unchain  the  stranger." 

The  parlor-desperado  obeyed.  Then  the  sheriff  made  a  speech; 
sitting  his  horse  at  martial  ease,  and  not  warming  his  words  with  any 
touch  of  fire,  but  delivering  them  in  a  measured  and  deliberate  way,  and 
in  a  tone  which  harmonized  with  their  character  and  made  them  impres 
sively  disrespectful. 

"  You?re  a  nice  lot  —  now  ain't  you?  Just  about  eligible  to  travel 
with  this  bilk  here  —  Shadbelly  Higgins  —  this  loud-mouthed  sneak  that 
shoots  people  in  the  back  and  calls  himself  a  desperado.  If  there's  any 
thing  I  do  particularly  despise,  it's  a  lynching  mob;  I've  never  seen 
one  that  had  a  man  in  it.  It  has  to  tally  up  a  hundred  against  one  be 
fore  it  can  pump  up  pluck  enough  to  tackle  a  sick  tailor.  It's  made  up 
of  cowards,  and  so  is  the  community  that  breeds  it;  and  ninety-nine 

34 


522  The   $30,000   Bequest 

times  out  of  a  hundred  the  sherU 's  another  one. "  He  paused  —  appar- 
ently  to  turn  that  last  idea  over  in  his  mind  and  taste  the  juice  of  it  — 
then  he  went  on:  "The  sheriff  that  lets  a  mob  take  a  prisoner  away 
from  him  is  the  lowest-down  coward  there  is.  By  the  statistics  there 
was  a  hundred  and  eighty-two  of  them  drawing  sneak  pay  in  America 
last  year.  By  the  way  it's  going,  pretty  soon  there'll  be  a  new  disease 
in  the  doctor  books  —  sheriff  complaint."  That  idea  pleased  him  — 
any  one  could  see  it.  "  People  will  say,  '  Sheriff  sick  again?  '  *  Yes; 
got  the  same  old  thing.'  And  next  there'll  be  a  new  title.  People 
won't  say,  '  He's  running  for  sheriff  of  Rapaho  County,'  for  instance; 
they'll  say,  « He's  running  for  Coward  of  Rapaho.'  Lord,  the  idea  of 
a  grown-up  person  being  afraid  of  a  lynch  mob !  " 

He  turned  an  eye  on  the  captive,  and  said,  "  Stranger,  who  are  you, 
and  what  have  you  been  doing?  " 

"  My  name  is  Sherlock  Holmes,  and  I  have  not  been  doing  any 
thing." 

It  was  wonderful,  the  impression  which  the  sound  of  that  name 
made  on  the  sheriff,  notwithstanding  he  must  have  come  posted.  He 
spoke  up  with  feeling,  and  said  it  was  a  blot  on  the  country  that  a  man 
whose  marvelous  exploits  had  filled  the  world  with  their  fame  and  their 
ingenuity,  and  whose  histories  of  them  had  won  every  reader's  heart  by 
the  brilliancy  and  charm  of  their  literary  setting,  should  be  visited  under 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  by  an  outrage  like  this.  He  apologized  in  the 
name  of  the  whole  nation,  and  made  Holmes  a  most  handsome  bow, 
and  told  Constable  Harris  to  see  him  to  his  quarters,  and  hold  himself 
personally  responsible  if  he  was  molested  again.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
mob  and  said : 

"Hunt  your  holes,  you  scum!"  which  they  did;  then  he  said: 
"  Follow  me,  Shadbelly;  I'll  take  care  of  your  case  myself.  No  —  keep 
your  pop-gun;  whenever  I  see  the  day  that  I'll  be  afraM  to  have  you  be 
hind  me  with  that  thing,  it'll  be  time  for  me  to  join  last  year's  hundred 
and  eighty-two;"  and  he  rode  off  in  a  walk,  Shadbelly  following. 

When  we  were  on  our  way  back  to  our  cabin,  toward  breakfast-time, 
we  ran  upon  the  news  that  Fetlock  Jones  had  escaped  from  his  lock-up 
in  the  night  and  is  gone !  Nobody  is  sorry.  Let  his  uncle  track  him 
out  if  he  likes;  it  is  in  his  line;  the  camp  is  not  interested. 


CHAPTER  X. 

c  /  EN  days  later. 

"James  Walker"  is  all  right  in  body  now,  and  his  mind 
shows  improvement   too.      I   start  with   him   for  Denver  to-morrow 

morning. 

Next  night.     Brief  note,  mailed  at  a  way  station. 

As  we  were  starting,  this  morning,  Hilly er  whispered  to  me :  "  Keep 
this  news  from  Walker  until  you  think  it  safe  and  not  likely  to  disturb 
his  mind  and  check  his  improvement :  the  ancient  crime  he  spoke  ot 
was  really  committed  —  and  by  his  cousin,  as  he  said.  We  buried  the 
real  criminal  the  other  day  —  the  unhappiest  man  that  has  lived  in  a 
century  —  Flint  Buckner.  His  real  name  was  Jacob  Fuller!  "  There, 
mother,  by  help  of  me,  an  unwitting  mourner,  your  husband  and  uiy 
father  is  in  his  grave.  Let  him  rest. 


THE  END. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


30/V56JB 

9e:c'D  UD 

Rpr^n  i  n 

IV  1—  \*J      !•/        l_  l~f 
f 

f*  i—  p»         *      *  nr*i+ 

TOWov'6-O/r* 

SEP    1  1956 

M      »cCTQ 

R---- 

i^Nov  Dblo 

; 

NOV  ^3  1356 

,,.... 

1      ^IHasW 

K    ^ 

NOV12  1961 

RECD  U3 

MAY  12  1957. 

15Apr'58WJ 

,-70  .\pw^9 

D                                          r-9, 

sd^jcyicai^fe-- 

5  'sfr  t  i  t»  i 
1UN  2  Q  fflflS         4 

LD  21-100w-2,'55 
(B139s22)476 


General  Library 
University  of  California 


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